


my heart is where it's always been

by foreverautumn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Feelings Realization, Flowers, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Future Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Social Media, attempts at romance, it's very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24624934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverautumn/pseuds/foreverautumn
Summary: Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 107
Kudos: 480





	1. give me one more chance

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to dedicate this to my dear & darling myoue !!! DID YOU KNOW that your birthday is one day off from Iwa-chan’s, and mine is two days off from Oikawa’s? If that’s not some kind of friendship fate, I don’t know what is

Iwaizumi has a morning ritual. It’s very simple, actually. He turns off his alarm, reads but doesn’t reply to any texts (especially if they’re from Oikawa) until he has his morning coffee in hand, which comes after his morning shower. But this morning is shaping up to be a little different than the others.

For one thing, there are no texts from Oikawa, and over twenty from shared friends of theirs. It’s not that there’s a message from Oikawa every morning or anything like that, but the absence of his name among all of the others sticks out like a sore thumb.

As he sits at the edge of his bed, a ball of tension slowly forming in the pit of his stomach, a single new text lights up his screen. His eyebrows raise.

Oikawa  
_Iwa-chan, don’t look at Twitter today, okay?_

It flashes innocently at the top of his notifications before fading away. Iwaizumi scowls. He has a routine, and it’s important not to break it. But there’s also the fact that Oikawa had actually managed to make Iwaizumi _worry_ about him for a few heart-stopping seconds, when this strangeness is undoubtedly over something entirely stupid.

Iwaizumi flops onto his back and starts scrolling through his text messages. He can feel his blood pressure rising the more he reads on, and nearly half an hour later he’s still in bed, scrolling through Twitter. How come he had never just gone through with uninstalling this stupid app? It’s not like he ever even uses it. He regrets his previous life decisions immensely, barely able to read the words on screen through his squinted eyes.

He only snaps out of his trance when two more texts from Oikawa arrive.

Oikawa  
_Iwa-chan, I can’t believe you’ve betrayed me like this!  
Your best friend, who trusted you (ಥ﹏ಥ)_

Iwaizumi bristles. He hasn’t answered Oikawa yet, so of course he knows exactly what Iwaizumi’s doing right now. His thumb hovers over the message before it fades away, and - well. This is so, so ridiculously stupid, and it’s maybe a little satisfying that at least Oikawa has the grace to feel embarrassed about it. He drops his phone onto his stomach and covers his face with a hand to hide his snort.

What an idiot.

Iwaizumi sits up quickly, ignoring the time in the corner of the screen. He pulls up his conversation history with Oikawa and types out a message in reply.

Me  
_Your first big scandal as a professional athlete, and you think I’d miss it?_

He hears his phone buzz once, twice, three times before he even makes it out of the room to finally shower. He’s still stifling laughter throughout the rest of the morning, but during his lunch break there’s a weird, unsettled feeling he can’t really explain when he reads the post Oikawa had made twenty-three minutes ago on Twitter.

_There’s nothing wrong with admitting I’m a romantic at heart! I can forgive any teasing from my other pining friends out there. Stay strong! (✿˶˘ ³˘)~♡_

There’s a selfie attached, Oikawa’s tried and true wink-plus-peace-sign combo that had made all the girls swoon in high school; unfortunately it’s never really seemed to have lost its charm, despite Oikawa seriously turning down those theatrics after his teenage years. Nevertheless, nearly all of the replies feature some variant of the same earth-shattering idea.

_OIKAWA-SAN’S PINING AFTER SOMEONE?!?!?!_

_wait someone tell me how oikawa tooru is? pining? and? afraid? to? confess? uhhhh?_

_Has this man looked in a mirror? Who could possibly say no to THAT!_

_Omgggg Oikawa-saaaaaan! Hang in there! (T▽T) We believe in you!_

Iwaizumi’s eyes start to cross at the barrage of cutesy GIFs and caps lock nonsense assaulting his senses as he scrolls through the thread.

He places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

Iwaizumi knows for a fact that the man has no time for anything resembling a personal life beyond volleyball, and while Iwaizumi tries to convince him to take a break every once in awhile, as always, it’s like talking to a brick wall. Oikawa will whine in the face of what he calls ‘Iwa-chan’s pestering’ and in some cases, shut down entirely. Iwaizumi has to pick and choose his battles. He can’t help that sometimes his concern comes out in the form of yelling obscenities over the phone. He’s known Oikawa for too long.

While it’s true he’s toned down the theatrics since high school, Oikawa still knows how to play to his audience. Iwaizumi supposes there’s really no other way to respond when you’re a public figure and it accidentally comes out that you have a side Twitter full of retweets of sappy quotes and poem snippets and literally nothing else. Play to the audience. It only makes sense.

Iwaizumi forgets to eat the rest of his food by the time lunch is over.

It’s much later, a time he should really be getting ready for bed, when Iwaizumi is first able to admit that he might have a slight problem. The day had passed by in a strange blur, and while he can distinctly recall laughing at Oikawa over text with their friends, laughing at Oikawa over text to Oikawa himself, and working a full day around all of that, there’s still something niggling away at the back of his mind.

He’s not helping himself ignore it, either. Iwaizumi keeps going back to that post, reading the new replies as more people see it for the first time. Oikawa hasn’t replied to anyone or posted anything else, but that hasn’t stopped the responses from coming in. The GIFs are getting more and more out of hand, and there’s one poorly made edit of Oikawa serving a sparkly pink heart over the net that has Iwaizumi’s face burning in secondhand embarrassment.

His finger hesitates in midair. His brain very clearly tells him _no, don’t do this_. It’s not even that late in the day. He hasn’t been drinking, either, though he’d been irrationally tempted at one point. There’s absolutely no excuse to get drawn into this nonsense. 

Even so, Iwaizumi finds himself retweeting the terrible grainy GIF, adding his own text to the post.

_#teamwebelieveintooru_

Iwaizumi hasn’t posted anything on Twitter in approximately three months. He decides to pin this one to the top of his basically defunct page. Moments after doing so, he receives an alert that Oikawa had liked the retweet.

He barely has time to wrap his head around Oikawa’s quick response before he receives another alert, this time that Oikawa had retweeted his post. He stares dumbly before finally tapping on Oikawa’s profile.

There, proudly at the top of his page, is another new post, just above the retweet of Iwaizumi’s.

_Thank you to everyone for the support! I believe in all of you too! o(≧∇≦)o_

It already has five replies, but Iwaizumi is distracted by the new alerts appearing in his notifications as people start liking and retweeting his stupid post. When he manages to check on the replies to Oikawa’s latest tweet, he’s horrified to find mixed into the outpouring of support a familiar hashtag attached to a good portion of them: _#teamwebelieveintooru_.

More notifications keep popping up, and a few people even follow Iwaizumi’s account. He’s forced to click around aimlessly until he figures out how to turn off all the alerts, after which he’s tempted to disable the account entirely.

This is why Iwaizumi doesn’t use social media.

A new direct message appears in the corner. Iwaizumi could uninstall. He really could.

Instead he checks to find that, of course, it’s from Oikawa.

_I didn’t know you followed my Twitter so closely, Iwa-chan!_

_I don’t_ , he’s already typed out, before realizing belatedly that the GIF he’d retweeted had been buried amidst a sea of replies and had only had a handful of likes before he’d interacted with it. A cold sense of dread curls in the pit of his stomach.

Iwaizumi erases the two simple words and closes the app without responding. Oikawa texts him two minutes later, various crying faces taking up the entire screen.

It’s totally backwards that Iwaizumi is the one feeling embarrassed here. He decides to ignore Oikawa for the rest of the night to make himself feel better.

-

Because Iwaizumi’s life is clearly spinning out of control, he finds himself on Twitter a lot more the next two days. It’s with a feeling of great disgust and disappointment that he realizes he’s become one of those people who consistently reopens the social media app they’d just closed five minutes prior. As with most annoyances in his life, of course this one can also be traced back to Oikawa.

Speaking of. Oikawa’s been acting a little weird.

Or maybe it’s Iwaizumi’s imagination. In fact, _he_ might be the one acting weird. It’s probably a little strange to be so deeply invested in his best friend’s not-quite Twitter drama but not actually talking to him about it. There’d been teasing the first day, but after that inquisitive message of Oikawa’s following Iwaizumi’s fabled retweet, neither one of them have brought it up again. And so, Iwaizumi goes on delving into the replies on Oikawa’s posts, which, okay, isn’t that bad - that can be explained by genuine curiosity and ease of access. It’s not so strange to check up on his friend, right?

Iwaizumi has less of an explanation for why he’s been spending more and more time on Oikawa’s… _other_ Twitter. The one that had stirred up the drama in the first place. Apparently Oikawa had responded to something accidentally on this account, or something or other. Iwaizumi’s not totally sure of the intricacies of running one Twitter account, let alone multiple. 

Okay, so he’s pretty much ninety-five percent sure that he’s the one being weird. He can’t stop reading over every single quote, slowly, imagining Oikawa poring over it. _A romantic at heart._ What does that mean, exactly? Does he get some kind of wistful look on his face? All Iwaizumi can envision are those simpering expressions he used to grace the girls with in school. They’d seemed to eat it up, but what does a pining Oikawa Tooru look like? 

Does he go back through his own page later, thinking of the person he likes? Is in love with, even? Does he picture actually _saying_ these kinds of things to them? Is he not mortified by the very idea? Is there really even a person this is directed towards at all? Why does Iwaizumi feel like he’s suffering from heartburn more than ever before, in his entire life? Maybe he’s not focusing on eating properly. Social media is proving to be the curse he’d always known it was.

Since Iwaizumi’s phone is a constant fixture in the palm of his hand now, he sees Oikawa’s text as soon as it comes in. Something like guilt squirms in his belly as the notification appears over Oikawa’s other Twitter page.

Oikawa  
_Iwa-chan, are you still able to take me to the airport this weekend?_

Iwaizumi sighs. Like he would flake out on something this important. Oikawa has to do quite a bit of traveling, these days. One of the perks of going pro.

He taps quickly on the screen before the message disappears. Apparently he’s not quick enough, because it’s gone, and Iwaizumi has just pressed the like button on Oikawa’s tweet. Make that Oikawa’s retweet. One that reads, simply, _Holding hands is better than saying “I love you”._

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, the grip on his phone tightening. He’d been staring at that one for awhile, lost in thought, and well, now he’s paying the price for his inexplicable curiosity over the past three days. Oikawa now knows he hasn’t forgotten about it, and much worse than that, is creeping through his other Twitter. Worse than _that_ , he’s liking the posts there. It had been a mistake, of course, but Oikawa doesn’t know that. He considers tapping the stupid little heart again, but he knows Oikawa will still have received the notification. There’s no way to take it back.

Ignoring the situation totally seems to be the best option at this point. He pulls up Oikawa’s message to reply.

Me  
_Of course.  
Your flight’s early, right? What time should I pick you up?_

He waits a minute, but Oikawa doesn’t reply. When he minimizes his messages, he sees perhaps the most terrifying sight he’s ever seen. A glaring red Twitter notification. Worse yet, it’s a message. Worse yet, it’s actually multiple messages, all from Oikawa.

Before he’s mustered up the courage to check them, Oikawa texts him back. He watches the messages flit by in his notifications.

Oikawa  
_Probably 5… or earlier? ( ¬ _¬) ;  
Don’t kill me, Iwa-chan!_

Now he’s back to staring at his Twitter messages. He can’t even explain why, exactly, he’s so antsy. Why doesn’t he want to just blow this whole thing off? Inform Oikawa he’d obviously liked the quote as a joke, or that Oikawa’s a loser for having this soft-hearted side at all after acting like a player all those years ago?

These options just don’t sit right with Iwaizumi, and it bugs him to no end. This is what their friendship _is_ ; they’re the only ones allowed to pick and prod at everything about each other. So why does Iwaizumi feel like he’s treading on glass?

He checks the messages after a long sigh, one almost dramatic enough to remind him of Oikawa himself.

_Iwa-chan! I didn’t know you looked at that Twitter too Σ(・口・)  
I haven’t been using it since everything happened, haha…_

And there, just a few minutes after the others:

_So you liked that one, too?_

Iwaizumi realizes he’d forgotten to breathe at some point. Now that he is again, it doesn’t seem to be helping much.

_So you liked that one, too?_ Does he? Iwaizumi swallows. Maybe he had liked it, a little. He’d certainly been staring at it long enough. It’s simple, to the point. Not so bad, really.

_It was alright._

Iwaizumi sends it before he can properly talk himself out of it. He even follows up with another message.

_You should keep using that account, if you want. Who cares what people think?_

For some reason, his heart is thundering in his ears. He closes out of the app before he can type anything else embarrassing, and then remembers he hadn’t actually answered Oikawa’s texts yet. This is the actual important conversation, the one he should be focused on.

Me  
_No promises.  
Just make sure you’re actually ready._

Somehow, he knows he’s not going to receive a reply to his text first. He waits impatiently until the Twitter notification appears before clicking on it not unlike a starving man.

_Right! It says a lot, with only a little.  
Maybe I will, Iwa-chan. Thanks (ﾉ∀`♥)_

Iwaizumi’s heart is still racing, but he feels a little - better, now. Like there’d been some elephant in the room, and now that they’d both acknowledged it, calmly, they can go about their lives like normal. Hopefully.

He can still always uninstall Twitter, if he has to.

He eyes their short conversation for another moment, before deciding that he doesn’t have anything to add. He closes out of the app entirely, and sees Oikawa’s latest text arrive.

Oikawa  
_I was born ready!_

Iwaizumi smiles. He’s not wrong, really. He’s always entirely invested in anything volleyball-related, and it’s both one of the most annoying and most admirable things about him.

Me  
_I’m not helping you pack though, so don’t ask._

Oikawa  
_But Iwa-chan! You’re so much better at folding clothes than I am!  
Just like a little housewife!_

The smile is long gone, now.

Me  
_On second thought, maybe you should find another ride._

Oikawa  
_Iwa-chan! Wait! You’re not a little housewife at all!  
You’re a big old brute!  
Is that better?_

Me  
_Can’t believe you’re letting the team down like this.  
But I guess they’ll do just fine without you._

It’s not entirely a surprise when his phone lights up a minute later with an incoming call from Oikawa. Iwaizumi bites his lip to curtail his smile, evens out his voice. “Yeah?”

“Iwa-chan!” comes the breathless shout. “You know I’m only teasing! You’ll pick me up, right?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Iwaizumi replies, doing his best to sound deep in thought. He even goes so far as to place his chin in his hand, though Oikawa isn’t here to appreciate the effort.

“I’ll buy you breakfast, okay? It’ll be nice. You can order the most expensive thing they have, and I promise I’ll only protest a little.”

“Oikawa. No one’s even going to be open.”

“True…” Oikawa trails off. “Never mind, I’ve got it. I’ll pack on my own and won’t bother you about it at all.”

It’s getting difficult to hide his smile again. “You already bothered me about it. That’s strike two.”

“You’re being awfully mean today, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa doesn’t sound upset, though. More like downright chipper, if he had to put a name to it. “I guess this just means I’ll owe you a favor, how about that?”

“A favor, huh?” Iwaizumi repeats slowly, stroking his chin. That could end up being handy leverage, down the road.

“Don’t be weird. I can hear you imagining weird things over there,” Oikawa complains.

“Who’s the weird one, again? I’m pretty sure only one of us spent an entire week convinced he could read minds.”

“I was eight, Iwa-chan! And it’s not my fault your head was so empty I didn’t realize it was just my own thoughts all along.”

“Right. Hmm, actually, I think I’m busy that morn—”

“No, wait!” Oikawa cuts him off quickly. “One favor, Iwa-chan. Whatever you want, and I can’t say no.” He pauses, waiting for Iwaizumi to interject. “Deal?”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. Sure, why not. He’ll save it for something special.

“Deal,” he says.

-

It’s normal, again, for the most part. Iwaizumi still spends far too much time on Twitter, but he feels a little less guilty about it. Now that Oikawa knows, and doesn’t seem to mind, what’s the harm?

It’s fine, anyway. Oikawa’s allowed to pine after anyone he wants, however he wants. It has absolutely nothing to do with Iwaizumi.

They go out to eat two days before Oikawa’s flight, at the little diner that’s the perfect distance between their apartments. Usually they go out the night before Oikawa leaves, but they both know that he isn’t going to pack until the last minute, and they have a brutally early start the day after. Oikawa offers to pay for dinner as his favor, but Iwaizumi declines. He also tries to get Iwaizumi to accept the way he’d held the door open for him as the favor, but that had been even less likely to succeed. He’d merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow in reply, and Oikawa had pursed his lips and shouldered his way past him to get them a table.

“What are you going to do with yourself when I’m gone?” Oikawa asks after their food arrives, batting his eyelashes. It’s not the first time he’s posed this question before a trip, like Iwaizumi is going to fall apart the instant Oikawa disappears from view at the airport. This time, he’ll only be gone for two weeks, which isn’t that long.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “I guess what I always do. Eat ice cream and cry into my pillow.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa kicks his leg under the table. “Why do I even waste my time worrying about you?”

“Is that what it is?” Iwaizumi takes a sip of his drink. “I’m pretty sure it’s a lame segue for me to compliment you or something.”

“Iwa-chan’s heartless,” Oikawa grumbles, stabbing at his food. “Won’t even miss his best friend at all.” For all that Oikawa can sometimes fuss over his appearance, he sure doesn’t mind pouting like a child in public. Iwaizumi really shouldn’t find it endearing.

“I didn’t say that,” he says, ignoring Oikawa’s head tilting upward. He picks at his own food carefully, letting the words hang in the air.

“Well, I’m going to be very busy,” Oikawa says eventually, sounding more like himself again. “Who knows if I’ll have time to reply to all of your messages? You can still send them though, they’ll help me fall asleep at night.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t take the bait. “Sure.”

“Don’t get offended if I fall asleep when you call, either. I’m going to be really exhausted, you know.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says simply. He focuses on his food and not Oikawa, shifting restlessly across from him. It probably shouldn’t be so gratifying to watch him get worked up, but well, it’s one of the perks of being friends with someone so long.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

“What’s that?” Iwaizumi asks disinterestedly, blinking as he looks up. Oikawa’s frowning, both hands off the table and in his lap. At that, he does pause. Iwaizumi’s own hand hangs in the air as they stare at each other in silence. 

“I’ll miss you,” he declares. There’s still a little frown tugging at his lips, something challenging in his gaze. Iwaizumi’s not sure what to make of it, but there’s a little flutter in his chest. Weird, for sure, but not entirely unpleasant.

“Was that all?” Iwaizumi looks away, but finds himself drawn back a moment later. Ignoring Oikawa is unfortunately something he’d never quite mastered as well as he’d like. His eyebrows furrow together at Iwaizumi’s response, and before really thinking about it, he adds, “Me too, obviously.” Another pause. Apparently Iwaizumi’s going to have to spell it out. “I’ll be mad if you don’t call or text me, you know.”

Oikawa’s frown dissolves like it’d never been there at all. Iwaizumi returns the kick from earlier before his face can brighten too much, but it’s still dazzling enough to make him look away. Who looks like that just because of someone stating the obvious?

“Iwa-chan, let’s get ice cream for dessert,” Oikawa says cheerily. His foot nudges at Iwaizumi’s. “That way you won’t have to eat it while I’m gone.”

He’s positively glowing. Iwaizumi would almost feel embarrassed on his behalf, but he doesn’t seem to be trying to hide it. Pressing back beneath the table comes second nature.

“Okay,” he agrees, if only to see that smile widen further. As with most things, Oikawa doesn’t disappoint.

-

Oikawa posts to his other Twitter the next day. The reason Iwaizumi knows this is because he’s become a slave to social media in order to stalk his oldest friend. At least he’s not the only stalker, which is somehow equally sad and relieving; there are several comments and retweets afterward, all bearing that terrible hashtag that Iwaizumi himself had started.

_I wish someone thought about me as much as Oikawa-san and his lover! (´•ω•｀) #teamwebelieveintooru_

_Goooo Oikawa-san! Go go go! You can do it! #teamwebelieveintooru_

_imagine if oikawa-sama got down on one knee and confessed right there on the court!!! omg!!! #teamwebelieveintooru_

Iwaizumi frowns at that one. Oikawa going down on one knee on the court isn’t anything to make light of.

He’s seriously considering replying to the person, which may overtake his last retweet as the dumbest decision of his life so far, when a new direct message comes in. For perhaps the first time ever, Iwaizumi is thankful for the distraction.

_In poor taste, isn’t it?_

Oikawa has attached a link to the tweet Iwaizumi had just been staring at. Well, glaring is probably a more accurate term. Iwaizumi shoves his face into his hand to muffle a groan. Maybe eight-year-old Oikawa had been on to something with the whole mind-reading thing.

_That’s what I was just thinking._

Iwaizumi could pretend he hadn’t already seen it, but it’s fine now, right? This is something they can talk about casually.

_My Iwa-chan in shining armor! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭✧_

Okay, maybe not. Iwaizumi closes out of the app quickly.

He’s still not sure how he’s supposed to be handling all of this. It’s becoming more and more likely that yes, there actually is someone that Oikawa’s in love with, and the natural course of action here is for Iwaizumi to pose the obvious question - who? Who is it that his best friend is interested in? Is it someone he knows? Someone Oikawa met abroad? He’s supposed to be offering an ear, a shoulder, he should be the one for Oikawa to gush to about all of this, the one to make fun of him, tease him, and maybe try to offer some sort of advice for how to win over that person. Right?

Why is that weird heartburn coming back again? Iwaizumi wanders off to the kitchen, downing a glass of water. It doesn’t seem to help. He’s never been too great at keeping his medicine cabinet stocked, just pain relievers and muscle creams he foists onto Oikawa whenever he pushes himself too much at practice. He gets another glass of water and slumps down on the couch. He contemplates switching on the TV for background noise, but decides against it. 

Iwaizumi folds his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. What exactly is the problem here? Oikawa’s never been afraid to tactfully inform him that he’s stupid, but it’s really _Oikawa_ that’s the stupid one, here. Why does Iwaizumi have to be the one to bring it up? Why does Iwaizumi have to be the one to make it - _real_? If Oikawa wants to talk about it, then why the hell doesn’t he just say something?

Maybe that’s just it. Maybe he doesn’t want Iwaizumi to know.

Iwaizumi realizes he’d tensed up at some point and forces himself to relax. There’s nothing wrong with that. If that’s the case, Iwaizumi has no reason to complain. They may be best friends, but there are some things that are meant to be kept private. If all Oikawa wants to share with him about it is what he’s also sharing with his fans, then that’s his choice.

Iwaizumi groans, hiding his face in his hands. If it’s fine like this, then why doesn’t it feel like it is?

-

The sound of his alarm in the morning may as well be a harbinger of doom. Iwaizumi blindly waves a hand toward the table, where he almost knocks over his water before grasping the offending phone. It’s still pitch black out. He squints as he disables the alarm, falling back with a long sigh. Sleeping on the couch hadn’t been the best move, probably, but it’s too late to regret it now.

Dragging himself off to the shower seems more than a little daunting at this point, so he settles for sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. His phone is ringing a moment later, and he answers it without looking. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Oikawa sounds half asleep himself, which is a mild consolation. “Just making sure you were awake.”

“Barely,” Iwaizumi mutters. “Why did I agree to do this again?”

Oikawa laughs, something airy and light. Iwaizumi can almost picture him, eyelids heavy and expression unguarded. “I guess it’s because you’re the best.”

Warmth sparks in his chest at the words. How stupid. Iwaizumi stands up and makes his way down the hallway. “You must be really tired to admit something like that.”

“Nope,” Oikawa replies easily, a stupid little buzzer imitation following afterward. Iwaizumi’s lip does not twitch upward. “Iwa-chan’s always the best. I’ll tell you whenever you want.”

Iwaizumi’s face feels a little hot, which is getting harder to ignore as he wakes up properly. “Now you’re just making fun of me again,” he grumbles, grabbing clean clothes from his drawer. 

“Why can’t you just take a compliment, Iwa-chan? You make things so difficult.” There’s a rustling sound in the background, maybe Oikawa flopping back against his pillows. Iwaizumi pauses, hands full of clothes, and closes his eyes. It’s too early for trying to figure out Oikawa.

“Well then, tell me all about how great I am later. I’ve gotta get a shower.”

Oikawa laughs again. “Okay, okay! See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, shuffling off to the bathroom. “Don’t fall back asleep, loser.”

“Rude!” Oikawa exclaims. “I never lose. Bye bye, Iwa-chan.”

“Bye,” Iwaizumi mutters, ending the call.

He goes through the motions of showering and getting dressed, barely paying any attention to what he’s doing. It’s still dark when he stumbles out the door and climbs into his car. It sputters a little once he starts it up, but otherwise, no other issues arise. Although it’s an older model, this car has been with Iwaizumi for the past two years and he has no plans to trade it in for something newer.

It doesn’t take too long to reach Oikawa’s apartment, mostly due to the lack of traffic. Normal people are living their normal lives, and sleeping in til a normal hour. Iwaizumi yawns and stretches as he exits the car. He pulls out his phone to text Oikawa.

Me  
_I’m here. Come on down._

Oikawa  
_I made coffee! You come on up._

Iwaizumi stifles a smile. They can spare a few minutes, he supposes.

He takes the stairs two at a time, which serves to get his blood pumping. When Oikawa opens the door with a smile, lamplight surrounding him like a halo, a cup of coffee in hand, Iwaizumi suddenly feels much more awake than he had when he’d been operating his car. A little worrying, perhaps.

“Not bad,” Iwaizumi says, sighing happily after the first sip. Oikawa takes pride in making a good cup of coffee, which is something that only benefits Iwaizumi. He’s all smiles as he bustles around, shoving a few last minute things into his suitcase on the floor. Iwaizumi stays out of the way, drinking his coffee in peace.

“You can say it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever tasted, Iwa-chan. There’s no one to overhear,” Oikawa says, winking up at him.

Iwaizumi manages not to choke. “You’re the worst,” he groans.

“And you’re the best,” Oikawa returns easily. Luckily he’s not looking at Iwaizumi as he says it. The coffee burns his throat as he chugs the rest of it down, the burn not unlike the heat in his face. He feels a little more normal after he washes out his mug and leaves it to dry.

“Ready?” he asks, making his way back over. 

Oikawa stands up with a huff, hands on his hips. “Ready!” He glances to Iwaizumi, calculating. “Was the coffee good enough to convince you to carry this brick for me?”

Iwaizumi leans closer, watches Oikawa blink owlishly down at him. “You wish,” he says, grinning.

Because he’s still a kind soul, Iwaizumi takes care of locking the door behind them as Oikawa struggles down the stairs. “You’d think you would learn not to pack so much by now,” Iwaizumi mutters. He’s not sure if Oikawa even hears him, seemingly determined to get down the stairs as quickly as possible, no matter the risk to his own life.

He’s waiting by the trunk by the time Iwaizumi gets there. “At least put it in the trunk for me, Iwa-chan,” he implores.

“You’re the pro athlete here,” Iwaizumi replies, opening the trunk and walking off. Oikawa makes a small sound of distress, and Iwaizumi is probably in too much of a good mood for this early in the morning. Even so, he can’t help a sigh at the sight of the darkened sky through the windshield.

The trunk closes with a resounding thud, and a glance in his rearview mirror shows Oikawa dramatically pushing his hand through his hair. Iwaizumi shakes his head and waits for him to get himself together. It only takes another moment for him to trot up to the door, more energetic than anyone should be at this time of day.

Oikawa clambers into the passenger seat with all the grace of a wild animal. “Iwa-chan, I swear you keep this car just to torture me,” he declares, wiggling his knees and gazing plaintively toward Iwaizumi.

“You’re not that much taller than me, you idiot.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, shoving at one of Oikawa’s restless legs. He’d already checked that the seat was adjusted properly to preempt this argument, but of course Oikawa’s going to complain anyway. “I can fit just fine, and I actually have to drive this thing.”

“ _This thing_ ,” Oikawa repeats, raising an eyebrow when Iwaizumi frowns. “That’s just awful. Aren’t men supposed to love their cars?” He clicks his tongue, deflating against the seat and shaking his head. “This thing. Poor car-chan. Iwa-chan never really loved you, you know. He’s been using you all along.”

The long line of Oikawa’s neck is left completely unprotected in his current position. Iwaizumi could deliver a swift chop before Oikawa would have any time to react, but the ensuing wails may not be worth it. He’s going to be stuck in this enclosed spot with him for nearly an hour, after all.

“Ours is a purely physical relationship,” he says instead.

He tries not to smile too hard at the scandalized gasp of “ _Iwa-chan!_ ” He ignores the hand shaking his shoulder as he starts the car, the sound of Oikawa’s laughter ringing in his ears. “A brute! I always knew it!” he crows, squeezing Iwaizumi’s shoulder when he tries to shake him off. When he does let go a moment later, Iwaizumi makes the mistake of glancing over to the side. There’s a lively sparkle in his eyes to go with the pleased slant of his lips, and Iwaizumi can’t hold back a smile in the face of that.

“Shut up and let me drive, asshole. I’m doing you a favor, remember?”

“Of course,” Oikawa replies primly, batting his eyelashes and folding his hands in his lap. Iwaizumi scowls darkly, because what else is he supposed to do in response to a display like that?

Oikawa keeps quiet for approximately three minutes, which is two longer than Iwaizumi had been counting on. Between chatter about the gargantuan length of his upcoming flight (“You’ve had longer though, right?” “Iwa-chan, that was vulgar!”), Iwaizumi’s car, the really important lucky shirt he’d forgotten to pack (there’d been a meaningful look directed at Iwaizumi at the red light, but he had remained unmoved), Iwaizumi’s car, the new brand of yogurt he’d tried and promptly gotten sick over (“I don’t need to hear about you shitting your brains out—” “Were you even listening, Iwa-chan? I said I threw _up_ , not once but _twice_ —”), and Iwaizumi’s car, they somehow make it to the airport in no time at all.

Iwaizumi squints up at the sky, leaning against the side of the car while Oikawa wrestles his suitcase from the trunk. It’s taking a little longer than it should, but both of them know that Oikawa gets a little anxious right before a flight, so Iwaizumi keeps his gaze trained upwards. Eventually Oikawa leans beside him with a small huff, their arms pressed together, suitcase on the ground at their feet.

“Text me when you get there,” Iwaizumi says unnecessarily. Oikawa always does, and they both know Iwaizumi’s going to walk him inside anyway. Oikawa jostles their elbows together.

“I won’t forget.” 

“Like you didn’t forget to hold your breath at the beach that time and almost drowned?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whines. “I was _six_.”

“Yup,” Iwaizumi replies. “And I haven’t forgotten. You wiped your snot on my sleeve after.” 

“You’re so mean,” Oikawa says without feeling. Iwaizumi fights a smile, turning to look at him.

The early morning light casts his face in colors Iwaizumi’s not used to, though not wholly unfamiliar. These days he sees Oikawa under the fluorescent hue of convenience store or diner lights, the yellowish tinge of the lamps in their respective apartments, the bright relentless shine of the spotlights on the court. It’s been a long time since he’s stood beside Oikawa with rolling pink clouds behind him, and it sets off some kind of unnameable ache in his chest. Nostalgia, maybe, or something else.

Oikawa tilts his head, shifts a little to tuck his hands into his pockets. Their arms are still pressed together. “You’ve got your thinking face on,” he observes lightly.

Because naturally Oikawa can always tell when Iwaizumi’s thinking too hard, even when he can’t even begin to possibly articulate what about. “It’s nothing,” he murmurs, but doesn’t look away from Oikawa’s thoughtful gaze. He doesn’t know when they’ll be together in a space quite like this again. They’d shared everything growing up, and right now, Iwaizumi suddenly feels like he’s been missing a lot without meaning to. A culmination of everything, maybe, that’s happened this past week. 

He does look away, then, but he’s not sure exactly why. Oikawa hums softly beside him.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi tilts his head back up, and knows, somehow, that Oikawa’s done the same beside him.

It’s quiet, but Iwaizumi doesn’t mind if the silence lingers a little longer. He has a feeling Oikawa’s got his own thinking face on. They really should get moving soon, but another minute or two won’t hurt.

“It almost feels like we’re on our way to morning practice, doesn’t it?” Oikawa says eventually, a little wistful. 

Iwaizumi stares hard at the pink sky, unblinking, feels the tight ache in his chest unfurl and fade into something more manageable. Not gone, but no longer stifling. He thinks of reaching for Oikawa’s hand to tug him toward the airport, the way he’d often pulled him out of the gym on nights of far too much practice, or out his front door with Oikawa grumbling all the while on mornings just like this one.

But Oikawa’s hands are in his pockets, and he doesn’t really need Iwaizumi dragging him off anywhere, anymore; he settles for pressing their arms closer for one warm moment as his answer, before pushing off with a murmur of, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday myoue! SURPRISE(??!!) Who knew a day like this would ever come again. The next part is almost finished, I promise. I didn’t intend for multiple chapters but it kept growing past the initial ~5k expectation, pls forgive. It was also going to be from Oikawa's POV at first, and yet here we are. Anyway, this should only be two parts!
> 
> I am still new to hq and tiptoeing around so pls don’t judge me too harshly. Thank you to anyone taking the time to read this and for giving it a chance♥️!


	2. give me two more chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi comes to some conclusions. Oikawa is a saint. (waves #teamwebelieveintooru flag)

It’s always a little strange at first, when Oikawa’s not around; the time zones are the biggest issue, but he gets used to it. He receives messages at different times than usual, but he always answers eventually. Oikawa sends the occasional photo, cool looking buildings or the stray cats he’s made friends with or the state of the art gym they’re using, but it’s still not as many as Iwaizumi would like. He’s not really sure how to voice that thought, so he doesn’t.

He makes sure to keep Oikawa updated on his side, as well. Oikawa assures him that the tension between two of Iwaizumi’s coworkers is juicier than any soap opera, and they have a running bet going whether it’s going to end in violence or a fantastic make out session. This week, it seems closer toward the violent spectrum, but Oikawa says mysteriously, “Maybe so, but love always prevails!” Iwaizumi doesn’t see it, but he guesses it’s that whole romantic-at-heart thing. It’s late anyway, so Iwaizumi just grunts and shrugs.

There’s a video call a few days in, a short, ten minute one while Oikawa had been riding the bus to some attraction Iwaizumi’s forgotten the name of moments after he’s been told. Oikawa talks softly so as not to bother the other passengers, and Iwaizumi does too, though it’s not really necessary. With their headphones in, they can still hear each other just fine. Oikawa smiles and gestures with his other hand, head tilted a little to rest against the window, and turns the phone occasionally to show Iwaizumi something through the glass. It ends up being one of the fastest ten minute stretches of his life.

Something makes him hesitate two nights later when he passes by the freezer section at the market. He snaps a photo of the shelves of ice cream and sends it off to Oikawa, because he knows it’ll make him laugh. Iwaizumi receives rows of obnoxious heart emojis and laughs in return. When Oikawa asks how many tubs he’d had to buy to ease his loneliness, Iwaizumi sends a photo of his receipt, which has no ice cream anywhere on it. He receives broken hearts and crying faces, and that same odd warmth from that night in the diner fills his chest.

It’s been a week already, and he thinks they’re doing just fine. He’s not sure what Oikawa had been worried about, really. They’d survived different universities, different studies, even being in different countries, because that had simply been the choice they’d both made. He’s aware that surely plenty of friendships have fallen apart with such obstacles, but not theirs. Distance has never done much, hasn’t ever changed anything, between the two of them. They’ve been together too long, know each other too well, to have to worry over something like that.

Oikawa has been posting photos to his Twitter off and on during the first week, ones Iwaizumi has already seen before Oikawa had artfully cropped them and slapped a filter on. For some reason, this knowledge gives him a strange sense of satisfaction. There’s one from today that Iwaizumi hasn’t seen yet, though, a sprawling shot of flowers in bloom and a sparkling little pond in the distance. By the time he sees the post, there are already quite a few comments, nearly all of them rambling over what a beautiful spot it is, so pretty, imagine Oikawa-san confessing his love in a place like this, and other such nonsense. Oikawa had decided not to send this one to him, and he’s not sure why. He likes the post and leaves it at that.

Or he would have, except Oikawa sends him a direct message a half an hour later, while he’s eating lunch.

_The whole place smelled like flowers, Iwa-chan!  
I never saw anything like it before!_

Iwaizumi can’t deny that the scene had held some appeal. It had looked tranquil, like the sort of place you could relax and take an afternoon nap, or apparently make love under a starry sky, according to one overly enthusiastic, and possibly slightly deranged, fan. 

_I’m surprised they didn’t all wilt when you walked through._

He looks back to the photo as he waits for Oikawa’s reply. It’s been a long time since the two of them have gone anywhere new together. It’s not something that they’ve talked about, but Iwaizumi’s thinking about it now. There had been a terribly planned road trip after high school graduation that had predictably gone wrong at every single turn, yet still remains one of the fondest memories Iwaizumi has. Oikawa travels quite a bit now, but he wonders if he ever imagines Iwaizumi in any of these places with him, instead.

_I hate to break it to you, Iwa-chan, but only your stink is enough to prematurely end a life.  
Also we both know I smell like sunshine ( ´ ∀｀)_

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. He considers asking if sunshine is listed in the ingredients of the cologne Oikawa uses, but that might be a bit odd to say.

_Sunshine doesn’t have a smell, weirdo.  
It does blind people with its own self-importance, though._

It’s easy, like always, to tease Oikawa. One time their friends had bet the two of them they couldn’t go a day without insulting each other, and it had been one of the strangest, most awkward days of his life. He’d received a text the next morning that read, _Iwa-chan sucks at being nice_ , and it made him laugh more than had probably been warranted.

_Iwa-chan! Am I your sun!_

Iwaizumi stares blankly, ears suddenly hot. How does Oikawa still manage to catch him off guard after all of this time?

_I don’t know how you got that from what I just said, but whatever._

Oikawa’s typing back immediately, and Iwaizumi realizes he’s smiling bemusedly down at his phone during lunch, right where anyone can see him. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should.

_Such a grumpy pants!  
But that’s okay, you can be my cloud (/ω＼)_

So stupid. So _unbelievably_ stupid, literally every single word out of his mouth or typed by his fingers or thought in his dumb head. Iwaizumi’s face is as hot as his ears and he half hopes maybe he’ll choke on the food he’s currently shoveling into his mouth.

Some bouts of pure idiocy don’t deserve a response, so Iwaizumi decides to leave it at that, for real this time. He ignores the row of little sun and cloud emojis that Oikawa had sent afterward and resolutely pushes his phone into his pocket. He focuses on his food instead, mind drifting as he considers how much vacation time he has saved up. It might be nice to go somewhere, see some new sights and breathe some new air. His boss is always telling him to take time off, loosen up, but that’s not really Iwaizumi’s style. He enjoys his routine, but it might not be so bad to take the advice once in awhile.

He’d studied abroad, but after returning to Japan, he’s just kind of laid down roots and remained where he is. He’s gotten comfortable, which isn’t necessarily a problem. In fact, it’s sort of exactly what he’d always wanted as he’d fought his way through years of university. Struggle now, get all of the hard work out of the way, so that he can find a place he wants to be, and enjoy his work and the stability that his life now affords him.

Iwaizumi’s out for a run when Oikawa calls him that night, and doesn’t see the notification until he gets home. There’s no voicemail, so it probably hadn’t been anything important. Still, his thumb hovers over the Call icon.

It’s been over forty-five minutes; there’s no point in returning the call. Oikawa seems to ring him up to chatter in between everything else he’s busy with, usually ending with _oh, there’s so and so_ , or _oh, I’m at the gym now, bye bye_. Iwaizumi ends up texting him instead.

Me  
_I was out running. I can call you tomorrow if you want.  
Don’t work too hard._

He moves to the kitchen before cleaning up, growling stomach making the decision for him. He checks Twitter while standing at the stove, looking at the line of sun and cloud emojis in his messages. His stomach flips strangely. Oikawa is honestly ridiculous sometimes.

_Why can’t you just take a compliment?_ Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that all of a sudden. It’s not like it had been a compliment, anyway. But there are times where Oikawa says certain things that just - or maybe it’s the way he says them? Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to make of it. And what is it that causes him react like this, exactly? He’s pretty sure none of his messages turn Oikawa’s face red or make his stomach squirm. Not that he wants that to happen, either. Iwaizumi frowns, stirring a little harsher than necessary.

There’s some sort of restless energy buzzing under his skin as he sits down to eat. He probably should have run one of his longer routes, but he hadn’t felt like this earlier. 

Oikawa’s reply comes in just after he’s finished putting away the leftovers. He wanders back over to the counter to check it.

Oikawa  
_It’s a date!  
Get some sleep, Iwa-chan! Night night!_

Iwaizumi stares at his phone for awhile. He must be really tired, except it’s the kind of tired where his eyes are incapable of closing and instead remain fixated on three simple words. It’s not the first time Oikawa’s used that quip, and he’d probably done so without thinking, but for some reason, Iwaizumi can’t stop staring.

It must have something to do with the fact that he’s been considering Oikawa’s love life a lot more than can be considered normal. He wonders offhandedly if any of those times Oikawa’s ended their calls has been when he’s arrived at the site of his next date. That picture from earlier springs to mind, the one he’d chosen not to send to Iwaizumi. Maybe he’d gone there with one of the pretty locals he’d managed to charm, or an old flame from last time the team had visited, or—

Why is he thinking about this, again? Iwaizumi tosses his phone to the side.

It doesn’t matter who Oikawa goes on a date with, whether it’s some one off fling or the big exciting date with the person he’s in love with. Maybe Oikawa will come back all smiles and finally tell Iwaizumi all about it, hanging off his arm, about how perfect and romantic and wonderful it had been, he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell Iwaizumi about any of it before, for fear of jinxing it, but now that they’re getting married—

“What the _hell_ ,” Iwaizumi says aloud, mortified. He runs to the shower like he can physically leave his thoughts behind if he just moves quickly enough. It doesn’t quite work, but Iwaizumi is able to cool down under the spray of the water, heart rate thankfully slowing down. What is _wrong_ with him?

He might actually be going crazy, or coming down with a debilitating illness. He’s not sure which is worse. _It’s the idiotitis, Iwa-chan_ , he can hear the woeful voice in his head echo, unsurprisingly a direct match for Oikawa at his most annoying.

The only saving grace is that Iwaizumi always sleeps like a rock on the nights he goes for a run. This trend doesn’t break, and he may actually send a mental _thank you_ out into the tenuous universe when he awakens the next morning.

Iwaizumi kind of wants to spend the entire day going for an endless run, solely so that he can collapse in an exhausted heap afterward and sleep for about a month. The best he can do in lieu of his number one option is to redirect all of his thoughts about Oikawa into a mental trash bin and focus on anything else.

It sort of works until later on, when Oikawa texts him and Iwaizumi instantly opens it, like the weak-minded individual he is. It’s a picture of an ice cream stand, and the attached message makes Iwaizumi consider tossing himself into that very same trash bin.

Oikawa  
_Does the ice cream thing go both ways?_

Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot. He can’t just say things like that, not when Iwaizumi is undergoing some weird, undefined internal struggle. A part of him would love to place the blame entirely on Oikawa, but he’s starting to think that maybe it’s just - himself. Something within himself, that’s been buried deep, unseen. Something raw around the edges, and if he looks at it too closely, he doesn’t think it’s something he’ll be able to turn back from.

Once he gets home, he entertains the idea of calling someone in a brief fit of desperation, then wonders where he would even begin. Does he need someone to tell him how stupid he’s being, laugh at him, when he already knows he’s losing it? He’s not certain he has the words to even explain. Half-formed conversations tumble around in his head, Oikawa’s name omitted, but he has a feeling their friends would know who he’s talking about, anyway. Maybe that means something, a thread he should follow, but he’s scared to grab hold of it just yet.

He could go out for a drink with some of the guys from work, or meet up with his neighbor two doors down, who would supply him not only with just tea, but her kind and sympathetic smile as well. They don’t know Oikawa personally, wouldn’t be aware of all of the history, years and years of friendship and trust and support and comfort, years of annoying each other, being there for each other, wouldn’t know just how inexplicably broken up Iwaizumi feels inside, but they’d listen.

Iwaizumi doesn’t do any of that. It would be pointless, anyway. How do you put something into words, when you can’t even quite grasp it yourself?

He puts off calling Oikawa until much later, lying in bed as the minutes tick by. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Oikawa won’t pick up, and Iwaizumi can just leave a quick message, or preferably none at all. Then he will be free to turn his phone off completely and proceed to get a fitful night of sleep, in peace.

Oikawa picks up after the second ring, because when has he ever made anything easy?

“I thought you forgot about me!” he greets, and Iwaizumi has to close his eyes. As if he could, even if he wants to. The thought makes him feel strangely guilty.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, palm covering his eyes. All that he’ll be able to focus on is the sound of Oikawa’s voice, like this. “I’m sure you managed to get by just fine.”

“Well, it’s always better with Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, like it’s a universal truth. Maybe it is, to him. 

“Yeah, right.” Iwaizumi’s smile feels a little out of place, stilted on his face. Why does he feel so melancholy? It’s not just his smile. Everything feels wrong, heavy, off kilter. What’s wrong with him, what’s wrong, what’s wrong—

“Hey, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is low now, concern bleeding through. “Is everything alright?” Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. This had been a bad idea. He should’ve just gone to sleep, sent Oikawa a text in the morning apologizing. There’s a shuffling sound over the line. “Iwa-chan, did something happen? Are you okay?”

“Nothing happened,” he replies, “I’m great.” Oikawa remains silent, clearly trying to determine whether or not he should press the issue. Iwaizumi doesn’t think he could bear it if he did. “Tell me about your day,” he says, a blatant plea to leave it.

And so, Oikawa does, talking about everything and nothing. It’s not the first time Oikawa’s succumbed to this impulse of his; Iwaizumi may complain that he’s always the one getting dragged along with Oikawa’s every silly little whim, but the truth is, it’s always gone both ways.

He’s reminded of times in university, long nights of picking his brain apart, struggling and failing to get his words down on paper the way he’d wanted. He’d gotten into the habit of sending his drafts off to Oikawa, not to offer any kind of guidance on the subject itself, but to read it back to him. Even when they’d been far apart, Oikawa would patiently read through it all, beginning to end, until Iwaizumi had managed to figure out how to fix the parts that had been troubling him. It hadn’t seemed so strange at the time, but now Iwaizumi can’t wrap his mind around it. Who does that? Who has to listen to their own thoughts in someone else’s voice, in order for them to make sense?

Iwaizumi’s hand slides to the side, knuckles pressing against the coolness of his pillow. If he keeps his eyes closed, it almost feels like Oikawa’s right here beside him.

Does he want that? Should he?

They’d made the choice so many times, like there had never been any other option. Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru are going to remain friends, in spite of, and because of, everything. Time and time again, they’ve made that decision, and now there’s another one looming before him.

There’s a lull in their one-sided conversation, and Iwaizumi opens his mouth to derail it completely.

“Hey, Oikawa.” His heart is racing, thumb tracing shaky circles into the pillowcase. “Do you remember that favor?”

There’s a long pause, and Iwaizumi can already hear the response he’s going to get. _What was that? A favor? Sorry! I don’t recall, Iwa-chan, must be something you made up in that silly head of yours._

Does he want an answer like that? An easy dismissal, a gentle tease, like a thousand times before. It would be okay, he thinks. It would make it alright for him to push these thoughts out of his head. Wrap them up firmly, neatly, and tuck them away.

“I remember,” Oikawa says finally, voice soft. It feels like victory and defeat all at once.

“Whatever I want, and you can’t say no.” Iwaizumi repeats Oikawa’s words back to him, an unnecessary reminder. He could still say no, of course, could end their call with an _oh look, time’s up, bye bye_ , but he doesn’t.

“Okay.” Iwaizumi’s heart is racing, racing, trying to burst out of his chest. His eyes are still firmly closed, and this all feels like a dream. Does he want it to be? He doesn’t _know_ what he wants, no matter how many times he repeats the question. But that’s a lie, because he does know, feels it solidify, take shape, when Oikawa speaks again. “What is it you want, Iwa-chan?”

There’s still time to take it back, to laugh it off, to say anything else at all, but Iwaizumi’s brain isn’t listening to sense. “I want you to answer me honestly.”

It’s quiet. Iwaizumi waits, but it doesn’t seem like Oikawa is going to agree. He already had, though, hadn’t he? Iwaizumi’s managed to back him into a corner from countless miles away, and he should stop, stop, stop while there’s still time, but the words are on the tip of his tongue, burning, like his thudding heart.

“I want you to tell me who you’re in love with.”

There’s nothing, only silence. Maybe he’d hung up, after all. Iwaizumi wouldn’t blame him. He counts the seconds, loses track, and counts the wild beating of his heart instead.

“That’s not fair, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice is quiet, far away, but Iwaizumi can still hear everything in it. He sounds vulnerable, fragile, and Iwaizumi’s the cause. “You shouldn’t ask me that,” he says, a little frustrated, a little angry, and that’s Iwaizumi’s fault too.

“Why not?” Iwaizumi croaks. He’s an awful, awful person. This is his best friend, and he’s trying to pry him open at the seams, all because he’s too much of a coward to look at his own self too closely.

Oikawa lets out a hitched, cut off sound, and it hurts more than if Oikawa had slapped him. He wants to take it back, all of it, rewind the last few minutes, wants to apologize over and over, tell Oikawa he’s sorry, he doesn’t have to—

“I thought you were okay with it, as long as I never said it outright.” A pause, the only sound Iwaizumi’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, heavy, an all-encompassing wave rolling over him. “Isn’t that why you never asked?”

“Oikawa, I didn’t…” What is Oikawa trying to say? He’d never asked, within these past few weeks, or he’d never asked, all of the times Oikawa had looked at him with maybe something more than fondness in his eyes? How long? How long has he not been asking?

What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t want to be the one hurting Oikawa. He blinks up at the ceiling, finally, fear choking him. “Oikawa, I don’t - I don’t want to ever hurt you.”

It’s too late for that, isn’t it? A knot forms in his gut, twists upon itself until it’s hard to breathe.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again, miserable. He clenches his teeth together to keep any more pathetic words from tumbling out.

“Are you worried about me, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is small. Still shuttered, but understanding. Iwaizumi doesn’t deserve it.

His breath catches stupidly in his throat. It’s not just that he’s worried about Oikawa. It would be simpler if that’s all it is, wouldn’t it?

Iwaizumi’s unable to reply, his brain struggling to come to terms with something just a bit out of reach, something monumental, and more than a little terrifying. “You’re a good friend, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says softly. _I’m not_ , Iwaizumi thinks desperately. “I’ll be fine. This might make you worry more, but I’m used to it. It’s been like this for awhile, you know?” He laughs, that practiced, artificial laugh he hasn’t used in Iwaizumi’s presence in years, and Iwaizumi’s heart beats hollow in his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he says, after Iwaizumi remains silent even longer. He thinks he gets it now, why he’s been obsessing over this whole thing, and the answer is so glaringly obvious he doesn’t know how he could have missed it. _It’s been like this for awhile_ , the words repeat in his head, and Iwaizumi thinks, _how could I have missed it_?

Iwaizumi lies back and stares at the ceiling for a long time after the call ends. Thinks of Oikawa, miles away, sending Iwaizumi silly anecdotes or pictures, maybe in the morning with his coffee, or after practice, loose-limbed and sleepy. Imagines what he might be feeling, in those little pockets of time where they’re able to talk to each other, amidst everything. Keeping his feelings close to his chest, like he’s always done when it comes to the things that matter most. 

He grimaces, flings his arm over his eyes. Stupid, stupid Oikawa.

What is he supposed to do now?

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Iwaizumi tosses and turns, even kicks the sheets onto the floor like an unruly child. He pulls them back up and leaves them bundled in a ball on the other side of the bed, burying his face into his pillow. Maybe he can suffocate himself like this.

It doesn’t work out, but he does fall asleep eventually. That fitful sleep he’d been wishing for earlier ends up even worse than he could’ve imagined. When his alarm goes off in the morning, he shoots up with a jolt and nearly ends up on the floor. He forces himself out of bed and toward the bathroom before he actually manages to injure himself.

Iwaizumi’s nearly convinced it had all been a dream. There’s just no way that the one Oikawa’s been pining over, the one he’s in love with, has been Iwaizumi, all along. It doesn’t make any sense, except for how it does, how it had laid barely hidden beneath all of Oikawa’s carefully chosen words. Still not said outright, because he’d thought Iwaizumi wouldn’t want to hear.

Iwaizumi stares at himself in the mirror. Does he want to hear it?

He swallows, looking away. He has no right to want to hear it, but he does. He wants Oikawa to look him in the eye and tell him everything, explain it all, when he’d first realized, how he’d fallen and why, what had made him decide never to say anything about it.

But he already knows the answer to that last part. It’s the same thing that keeps him from following the train of thought he’d begun last night, the answer to the reason why he’s been so bothered by the idea of Oikawa being in love with someone.

He’s afraid.

His hands grip at the sides of the bathroom sink. He stares down at the drain, unblinking, until his eyes start to burn. “I love him,” he says, half a whisper, and it doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t make him wince, or cringe, or laugh. Iwaizumi’s eyes still feel like they’re burning, even after he’s squeezed them shut.

He smacks one side of his own face abruptly, grouses out, “What an idiot,” but he’s not sure if he’s directing it at himself or Oikawa. Maybe both of them.

Oikawa may as well be halfway around the world, and Iwaizumi’s left to deal with this realization all on his own. It’s only fair, he supposes. Oikawa had to deal with it on his own too, right?

“Idiot, you fucking idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters, face buried in his hands. He doesn’t want to deal with this without Oikawa. He wants to see him, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and maybe just kind of lie in his arms for awhile until his heart stops hurting.

It’s only five more days. Iwaizumi has five days to get himself together, and figure out what exactly it is he wants to do with this information.

When he lowers his hands, his reflection looks more than a little lost.

He goes through the rest of the day like a zombie, offering words and gestures that are hopefully close to his normal behavior. He gets some strange looks from his coworkers, so it might not be going so well, but nobody asks him what’s wrong. If they had, Iwaizumi’s not quite sure whether he could’ve stopped himself from breaking down and blubbering his woes into their neck. Luckily he manages to hold himself together and keep from becoming the new gossip for the foreseeable future.

Dinner is leftovers, which he ends up having to microwave twice because he forgets to retrieve the food the first time. He eats slowly, not tasting anything, which is undoubtedly a good thing. He stares at his phone, lying on the table beside his plate. Oikawa hasn’t messaged him today. Because Iwaizumi’s a coward, he hasn’t messaged him either.

He lies in bed in something of a fugue state. When did he become so pathetic?

What the hell is he so distraught over? This is _Oikawa_.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s Oikawa. It’s safe to say that he’s been the closest friend Iwaizumi’s ever had for his entire life. There’s no one that compares to Oikawa; when it comes down to it, he’s always known that. Iwaizumi shifts his legs restlessly.

He rolls onto his side, keeping his eyes closed. The idea of anything changing between them is frightening. Of course Oikawa wouldn’t say a word. But it’s not quite the same, for Iwaizumi. Oikawa hadn’t known whether Iwaizumi felt the same, but Iwaizumi - as crazy as it sounds - he’s sure that Oikawa loves him. The thought sends a little tremor through him, each time he tries to come to terms with it. Even though he knows it’s true, he still doesn’t quite believe it. Can’t bring himself to. He can’t imagine what Oikawa’s been going through this whole time.

Does he want things to change?

The idea makes his head grow fuzzy, a sort of blankness setting in. There are a thousand thoughts, slightly out of reach, tiny little fragments, then bigger, huge pieces, words and images, a perfect sprawling puzzle just aching to be put together. Does he want that? It would only take an instant, he knows; just one singular moment of acceptance, and it would all click together, right before him. Simple, easy, sure, the answer to a question he’d never thought to ask.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shoot open at the sound of his phone. He reaches for it slowly, something stirring at the sight of Oikawa’s name on screen, despite knowing it’s what he’d see. He watches the alert flicker away, the screen going dark, and wishes he’d reached out first. Oikawa’s taken the first step, mending something not quite broken, and all Iwaizumi’s done is mope around uselessly. He sits up against the pillows before opening the message.

Oikawa  
_It reminds me of the morning I left. Don’t you think?_

There’s a photo attached; the pink sky is indeed reminiscent of the morning he’d taken Oikawa to the airport, aside from the difference in scenery. Iwaizumi suddenly misses all of the selfies Oikawa used to send him way back when, when he’d been going through one of his silly phases. Iwaizumi had gotten a selfie for every mundane little thing, and Iwaizumi wants a photo of Oikawa against that lovely pink sky more than anything in the world.

He closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. He’s pretty sure he knows what he wants, even if it’s scary to think about.

Me  
_You’re right, it does._

Iwaizumi stares at the screen, thumb tapping at the side of the phone, before typing out another message.

Me  
_I miss you._

Looking at the words makes something turn over in his chest. He covers his eyes with one hand. Thinks of Oikawa’s challenging look that night in the diner, the way he’d positively beamed when Iwaizumi had told him he’d miss him, their feet pressed together beneath the table. The inexplicable urge to grab Oikawa’s hand under that pink sky, and the way he’d held himself back. How many little moments have there been, when he could have said it? He wants to tell Oikawa right now, _hey guess what, I love you_ , but he can’t do it yet. Can’t do it like this.

The next message he gets is another photo of the sky, this time with Oikawa in the corner. It’s a little blurry, half of his face covered in shadow, but he’s smiling, the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth, head tilted to the side. His hand must be raised but only his fingertips have made it into the bottom of the picture, what can only be a wave. It’s dumb, but Iwaizumi might be crying a little.

He rubs at his eyes, lets the warm feeling in his chest pool outward. Yeah, he knows what he wants to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, gesturing wildly at Iwaizumi: git it, boiiiiii
> 
> So! This whole fic is really getting away from me, but I can safely say it will be one or two more chapters. I swear it’s like Iwaizumi is intent on prolonging his own suffering and I have no say in it anymore. BUT thankfully, Iwaizumi’s finally(!) figured things out, and Oikawa will be coming home in the next part.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Please feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](https://foreverautumnblog.tumblr.com/) if you’d like!


	3. give me half a chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, fluff, fluff.

Despite making a life-altering decision, nothing much changes over the next few days. Iwaizumi goes to work as normal, but he feels a lot farther from the emotional mess he’d been before. He’s even able to go for a run without totally losing track of where he’s going. Something different has begun sparking in his chest after an undetermined period of time. It takes awhile for him to pinpoint what it is, and when he does, he blushes like a schoolgirl.

It’s excitement. Thank god he’s in the car and nobody can see him right now. He’s tempted to pull over, but he manages to keep himself together.

There’s nothing wrong with being excited. He’s looking forward to seeing Oikawa, and that’s normal. Well, not entirely normal; Iwaizumi’s envisioned a few airport reunions that he will never recount, even under threat of death, but still. His fingers dig into the steering wheel with far too much force. It’s _mostly_ normal.

He’s going to have to get used to it. This is the same Oikawa who had decided in a fit of preteen rebellion that he wanted to pierce his ears, and when Iwaizumi had finally caved and they were sitting across from each other, a needle between his fingertips and a cup of ice by their knees, Oikawa had panicked and wiggled like a snake across the carpet with Iwaizumi collapsed over his legs, laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. The very same Oikawa that had plucked a pair of dirty boxers off of Iwaizumi’s floor when they’d been fourteen, and proclaimed that Iwaizumi should get a girlfriend or he was going to ruin all of his underwear, then had the audacity to act surprised when Iwaizumi bowled him over and punched him in the stomach. His silly, stupid best friend who used to kiss Iwaizumi’s scrapes better because Iwaizumi’s mom wasn’t always around and somebody had to do it, who once drank a jar of pickle juice just because they’d been bored one day after school, who ran screaming like a little girl while Iwaizumi had laughed and chased after him with a hose on those too hot summer days.

They’d always done everything together, the stupid and the important, so maybe it’s not that strange, after all, that they’ve done this together, too. That thought is a little too weighted for him focus on at the moment. Still, there’d always been an Oikawa-shaped spot beside him whenever he had envisioned his future plans, even if he hadn’t known it would be as anything more than his best friend. Not that that’s something that has changed. He still is, and always will be.

Iwaizumi wants to do something nice. A little bit romantic, maybe, if he dares to use the word. Something to show Oikawa how much he cares. Iwaizumi nearly sails through a stop sign, and decides not to give this any more thought until he’s outside of the vehicle.

Once he’s safely seated at the ramen shop a few blocks from his home, tucked away in the corner, he allows himself to think about it. He’s a simple guy, and always has been. He’s also never held any real interest in romance, and hadn’t ever made much of an effort before. Iwaizumi’s regretting it a little, now.

What do people do to show their affection? Iwaizumi’s tempted to pull out his phone and search the internet, but he doesn’t think his pride would ever recover. 

He thinks of all the sappy, romantic quotes that Oikawa’s fond of. Iwaizumi knows he could never say any of those lines out loud, even if Oikawa could. The idea of it makes him choke on his ramen. No, that’s never going to happen. Iwaizumi won’t let it, for both of their sakes.

Still, there has to be something. Oikawa’s flight home is getting in late, so Iwaizumi had already offered to pick him up and let him stay over. He’d also promised to make dinner, so Oikawa could have a home-cooked meal, and the whole thing sounds horrifyingly date-like the more he thinks about it.

No, no. He can work with this. It had just been something normal, expected, when he’d offered, but it’ll only take a little effort to make it more special. That spark of excitement reignites in his chest, and Iwaizumi forces himself to take a deep breath.

He’s a simple man. Oikawa knows this. And there’s no way he would be able to misinterpret the gesture of Iwaizumi showing up at the airport with flowers.

Iwaizumi shoves his face into his hands. He thinks he might be dying, but it’s not entirely in a bad way. When he thinks of Oikawa’s shocked face, the surprise melting away into something much warmer, he’s kind of okay with the dying thing. Unfortunately the vision goes further, Oikawa suddenly wrapped all around him and the flowers lying forgotten somewhere on the ground. Iwaizumi groans and crumples in his seat.

Still, he has a plan now. A very basic one, but it will do. He intends to have a proper talk with Oikawa once they get back to his apartment, but he feels much better knowing there won’t be any doubt about his feelings until then.

Iwaizumi feels a bit like he’s floating. He makes it back to his apartment in this happy little daze, and as he kicks off his shoes, he wonders if this is what being in love’s supposed to feel like. He has to hold onto the wall a little tighter after that.

Later when he’s curled up in bed, he ends up scrolling through Oikawa’s other Twitter. It’s become kind of soothing, now. Sometimes it feels like it’s just him and Oikawa, another conversation, despite the inevitable excited chatter whenever Oikawa retweets something new. He eyes the ‘Follow’ button at the top, and taps it after a moment of consideration.

That warm, floaty feeling hasn’t left him, really. His entire world has shifted, inexplicably, and he finds himself not minding too much whether he rights himself again. It’s somehow exhilarating, even if it’s a little terrifying too.

He chooses the first one carefully. It only takes a second to retweet the quote. He doesn’t add anything to it, just leaves it as is on his own page.

The world doesn’t end.

A few minutes later, and he’s retweeted four more. He’s feeling a little overwhelmed afterward, everything twisted up tight in his chest, but he pulls up his direct messages with Oikawa anyway. He wants to say something - anything - and he’s surprised to see the dots at the bottom of the window, indicating Oikawa is typing to him right now.

He doesn’t know how long he holds his breath. It comes out in a gusty exhale, eventually, and the dots also disappear, eventually. Oikawa doesn’t send anything, and neither does Iwaizumi, but he feels like right now, they might be on the same page for the first time in a long while.

It’s more exhilarating than terrifying, this time.

-

Iwaizumi takes a half day at work the day Oikawa is scheduled to return. It’s not strictly necessary, but he uses the time to clear his head, and, more importantly, track down a fitting bouquet of flowers.

It takes an embarrassingly long time to choose one. The girl at the shop does her best to help, but her gently prodding questions only serve to make Iwaizumi more antsy.

“I really have no idea what to get,” he admits finally. He’d considered their old team colors for approximately two seconds before wanting to bash his own head against the wall. Red roses are an easy choice, but he doesn’t want it to be _that_ basic, either. Perhaps the girl can sense his growing desperation.

“May I ask what the occasion is?” she asks. Her tone is sympathetic, gaze open and understanding. “I can put something together based on that, and you can decide if it’ll work, okay?”

Iwaizumi feels a little guilty. This girl shouldn’t have to walk him through his life crisis.

“Romantic occasion,” he manages to say. “Not a formal one, but - but romantic, yeah.”

She smiles at that. “Just give me a minute!”

The bouquet she presents is just lovely, even if Iwaizumi has no sense of how these things are supposed to go at all. “I’ll take it,” he says with a nod. He only winces a little at the price.

He almost places the bouquet on the seat beside him, but he’s fairly certain he might get into an accident if he does that. He takes a moment to sniff the flowers, not sure what he’d been expecting. It’s decidedly… floral. Pleasant. Oikawa will probably like it. Iwaizumi tosses them onto the backseat before he can go any further down that road.

The drive to the airport will take longer than last time. Iwaizumi decides to take the longer route, since he should still have extra time, anyway. With the wind blowing through the open window, the scent of flowers in the air, Iwaizumi feels a little like he’s on a precipice of some kind. It’s sort of nice. He wouldn’t mind falling over it.

His good mood remains for most of the drive, only souring once he hits the traffic directly around the airport. Iwaizumi contemplates cracking a few necks, but it’s fortunately not necessary. He finds a spot to park, then gets out to stretch his legs. He still has a bit of time; he pulls out his phone to double check which gate he needs to be.

There’s a sudden feeling that washes over him as he stands there, something a little anxious. He sighs, walks around the car a few times before wandering off a bit further. The feeling fades the more he moves around. He knows it’s just nerves, but he wants to hold onto that contented feeling from earlier.

It’s only been two weeks. They’ve gone much longer stretches without seeing each other, but this is different; Iwaizumi feels like he’s lived out a lifetime. Maybe because he’s finally sorted out a lifetime’s worth of feelings that can’t wholly be summed up with the three words dancing around in his head. His legs carry him along as his mind wanders, not landing on anything particular. Just the fluttery energy burgeoning in the center of his chest, reminding him that all of this is real.

When he looks down at his phone, he realizes he’d better make his way inside. He’s speed walking straight toward Oikawa’s gate when he notices the glaring emptiness of both of his hands, the bouquet long forgotten in the backseat of his car. Iwaizumi is half tempted to turn around and run back for it.

But it’s fine, it’s - he can readjust. The announcements all blur together in Iwaizumi’s head, in one ear and out the other. It’s no big deal, it’s not like this is further proof that he is a total failure when it comes to romance, or anything. Not like he’d spent a small fortune on the stupid dead things that are only going to wilt away, it’s not like they’re meant to last, and Oikawa surely doesn’t know how to take care of them. This had all been a terrible idea. Iwaizumi’s fuming silently, empty hands curled into fists at his sides, when he hears the call of, “Iwa-chan!”

The sight of Oikawa in the distance, one hand raised in a cheery wave despite the clear exhaustion on his face, is enough to wipe every negative emotion out of existence. It should strike Iwaizumi as pathetic, but he’s focused on moving through the crowd instead, heart beating fast.

When Oikawa raises his arms, Iwaizumi wastes no time crashing into him. Oikawa laughs against his shoulder, surprised, and Iwaizumi can feel the rumble against his chest. “Hi, Iwa-chan,” he says, and Iwaizumi hugs him a little tighter.

“Welcome back.” The embrace is warm, familiar, just like the scent he’s barely keeping from burying his nose into. He wonders how Oikawa hadn’t been able to read him with just those two words alone.

Oikawa laughs again, softer this time. “You looked so mad, I didn’t know if you even wanted to see me.” He squeezes Iwaizumi once more before they pull apart.

Iwaizumi tries to play it cool. “I just can’t stand airports,” he not-quite lies. Oikawa doesn’t seem to think anything of it.

They make their way out of the building, Oikawa’s suitcase in tow. It takes them a little while to find Iwaizumi’s car, which he blames on the darkness, but is mostly because of the fact that Oikawa’s beside him, tired but smiling, bumping their arms together every so often.

Iwaizumi fumbles to get the trunk open, and has his hands outstretched awkwardly to retrieve Oikawa’s suitcase when he notices he’s already snatched it up and is placing it inside. Oikawa glances to the side, eyebrows raised.

“Well, looks like you’ve got it covered,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, and receives a grin in return.

“You can get it next time,” Oikawa promises, and Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

That good mood is definitely back, now. They’re both climbing into the car, Iwaizumi halfway through asking Oikawa what he wants for dinner, when he’s cut off.

“What’s that?” Oikawa interrupts, voice strange. Iwaizumi casts a quick look to the side as he settles in, then freezes. Oikawa’s neck is craned around, staring unabashedly at the bouquet of flowers thrown haphazardly on the backseat.

This is it. This is his chance. 

Time seems to slow down. He can draw Oikawa’s attention back to him with a simple call of his name, he can reach out, even. A hand on his elbow. Oikawa would turn to him, expression open. _There’s something I want to tell you._

“They’re for my mom.”

The car isn’t moving, but Iwaizumi feels as though he’d just managed to crash into a ten foot high wall, after careening through a thousand innocent civilians, the only casualty somehow managing to be his own pride.

“Oh.” Oikawa’s still eyeing the flowers. “Are you paying a visit?”

“No.”

Iwaizumi’s mind slowly cranks into gear, but all it can offer is a litany of _oh my god_.

Oikawa finally manages to tear his gaze away, settling more comfortably in his seat. “Is she in town, then?”

“Not - now.” Iwaizumi struggles not to throw himself bodily through the windshield. Oikawa tilts his head in confusion. “That is - it’s not decided, yet. If she’s actually coming.”

Oikawa lets out a small hum, leaning back. “Well, if Mama is visiting, I have to see her. It’s been forever.” Iwaizumi turns slightly, takes in the comfortable posture, the small curl at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, and feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Wonders if it’s that his life so perfectly fits Oikawa within it, or if his life fits perfectly around Oikawa.

“Yeah,” he says softly, finally moving to start the car. 

The drive back is mostly quiet, Oikawa making offhand comments here and there. Iwaizumi’s concentration is split between keeping the car on the road, offering passable responses to Oikawa, and struggling desperately not to reach out and take Oikawa’s hand, hanging casually, temptingly, over the console between them.

Oikawa only insults his car a handful of times, and Iwaizumi’s considering whether he actually can cajole his mother to come up for a visit sometime soon. Oikawa calls out, “Oh, wait!” as they’re exiting the car, leaning back in only to emerge with the flowers in hand. Iwaizumi has to force himself to look away, jaw clenched tight. He focuses on removing Oikawa’s suitcase from the trunk, but once he turns back, the vision of Oikawa clutching the bouquet remains before him. 

“What a gentleman,” Oikawa says, grinning. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s toting Oikawa’s suitcase resolutely up the stairs, or that he’d bought his mother flowers even though her fake visit hadn’t been confirmed yet. If he looks back, he can see Oikawa’s easy gait, the pleasant, relaxed expression on his face as he twirls the bouquet in his hands. Still treating it with the utmost care, of course. Only the best for Mama. Iwaizumi somehow manages not to collapse under the weight of Oikawa’s suitcase, on top of his tumultuous emotions.

Iwaizumi wrestles the suitcase beside the couch, and then slumps into the cushions with a sigh. The breath stutters and dies in his throat when he catches sight of Oikawa lifting the flowers to his nose, eyes closed. Iwaizumi’s pretty sure someone could break down his door and he wouldn’t be able to turn his head away.

“Do you have a vase?” Oikawa looks over to him then, still holding the flowers. He looks good holding them. Should do some kind of modeling, maybe, for that sort of thing, if it exists. “Iwa-chan?” he prods.

“Huh?” Iwaizumi sits up straighter, then shrugs. “Why bother?”

“They’re not meant to be out of water for that long,” Oikawa says, looking back to the flowers with a forlorn sort of expression. Iwaizumi shuffles to the kitchen and digs through his cabinets, not really sure if he’s going to find anything useful. Eventually he unearths a glass container he’d used to house cereal in before, and hands it over. Oikawa’s face lights up as he takes it. “This will work!”

He pauses on his way to the sink. “Should I leave the wrapping on?”

Iwaizumi takes a beat too long to answer. Oikawa turns to look at him over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” he manages. “You can do whatever.”

Iwaizumi watches in a daze as Oikawa turns on the tap, then unwraps his own bouquet and arranges it in the glass container. “There,” he says, holding it out for Iwaizumi’s inspection. 

“You hang onto it,” he says dumbly.

Oikawa quirks an eyebrow, lips parted in silent question. Iwaizumi doesn’t trust himself to speak any further, so he goes to the refrigerator instead. He does turn to watch Oikawa shrug and place the flowers in the middle of the kitchen table. He nods proudly, hands on his hips, and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to insert his head into the freezer and stay there for approximately twenty years.

“Go relax, I’ll make dinner,” he hears himself say. Oikawa offers something in reply, then makes his way out of the room. Iwaizumi feels like he can relax a little, himself.

Okay, so he’d totally blown that plan. But it doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make a nice dinner for the two of them, after which they can talk about everything. Iwaizumi smiles to himself as he dices vegetables.

After a few minutes, he steps around to glance over toward Oikawa, and sees him getting settled on the couch. He receives a stupid little wave and a smile once Oikawa notices him looking. After nearly chopping off his finger, he decides not to try that again. Cooking takes his mind off things, makes him feel a little less of a fool, at least until he spots the flowers on his table. Somehow he manages to finish dinner without setting any fires or causing physical harm to himself.

When Iwaizumi patters in from the kitchen, it’s to find Oikawa now sprawled inelegantly on the couch, long limbs thrown every which way. His cheek is smooshed into Iwaizumi’s preferred throw pillow, the one he always ends up relinquishing to Oikawa when they find themselves huddled up to watch a movie. Something soft and achy curls in his chest.

It’s fine. Oikawa’s tired, and there’s no rush, really. He’d wanted to do it right away, when he’d seen Oikawa come through the crowd, blurt, “I love you” right in front of hundreds of strangers and yank the other man into his arms. There’s no rush at all, just a fragile, sweet sort of urgency, one he doesn’t really mind so much. There will be a moment, the right one, and Iwaizumi will get the words out. He’s already decided.

He traces the line of Oikawa’s cheek bone with a knuckle. His eyelashes flutter, but he doesn’t stir. Iwaizumi lets out a breath.

He eats a little of what he’d cooked, simply because he needs to eat something. He spends more time staring at the flowers on his kitchen table and the man on his couch than focusing on the food. Quietly he packs the leftovers - two separate containers, so Oikawa can heat his own later, if he wakes up - and tucks them away in the fridge. Oikawa prefers the round bowl with the lid that pops obnoxiously, so he leaves that one on top. 

Iwaizumi’s not sure what else to do with himself. There’s a faint buzzing underneath his skin, but he can’t sit and stare at Oikawa drool on his pillow all night, though there’s a part of himself piping up that it’s not so bad of an idea. Iwaizumi switches off the lights and steers himself to the bedroom resolutely.

He tries to read a little, but he isn’t really paying any attention. He’ll have to flip back a few pages when he picks up next time. Push ups distract him, the kind of mindless exercise that always serves to wipe out his thoughts after awhile. Once he works off his energy, he lies on his back on the floor, arm thrown over his forehead.

After a warm shower and a change of clothes, Iwaizumi feels more relaxed. He crawls into bed and closes his eyes, pressing his face into the pillow. He doesn’t think he’s going to fall asleep just yet, but he lies there in a comfortable state, half way between dozing and awake. 

When he gets up to pee, he hears a bit of movement out in the living room. He could leave it, let Oikawa go back to sleep, but he ends up moving through the hallway, the faint light from the bathroom guiding him, until he finds himself behind the couch.

“Hey,” he says. Oikawa is sitting up, and tilts his head backward to meet his eyes.

“Hi,” he replies, sleepy smile pulling at his lips. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine.” Iwaizumi reaches out to pat at Oikawa’s head, but doesn’t quite move away after, like he’d meant to. His fingers remain tangled in soft brown hair, and Oikawa leans fully against the back of the couch with a sigh, tilting his head a little more into Iwaizumi’s hold.

“You should go back to bed, Iwa-chan.”

He should. It feels a little dangerous right now, here in the dark with Oikawa. Neither of them have shied away from this contact just yet, and Oikawa’s dopey gaze is making Iwaizumi’s pulse flutter.

“I can get some sheets for the couch. Just give me a minute,” he says. His fingers graze Oikawa’s ear when he pulls away, and he tries to tell himself the way Oikawa’s eyelashes had dipped lower had been because he’s tired.

Oikawa’s in the bathroom when Iwaizumi returns with the sheets and pillow case. Luckily he has enough time to fumble around and finish getting everything in order by the time Oikawa’s done. He’s changed into more comfortable clothes from his suitcase when he comes back, and he pauses at the edge of the couch, eyeing Iwaizumi stretched out.

“Iwa-chan? I don’t think there’s enough room for us to snuggle,” he murmurs, voice still a little thick with sleep. Iwaizumi’s cheeks warm. It’s lucky that it’s dark.

“Idiot, who’d want to,” he lies. “You’re tired. Use my bed, I’ll sleep out here.”

Oikawa just stares at him. Iwaizumi stares back.

Finally, Oikawa smiles. “What have you done with Iwa-chan?” he teases, reaching out to wrap a hand around Iwaizumi’s ankle and jostle him around. “There’s this thoughtful guy who bought flowers for his mama and is offering me his own bed without complaint.”

Iwaizumi’s aware that he’s not quite shaking Oikawa off like he should be. Like Oikawa should have done, earlier, when Iwaizumi’s fingers had curled into his hair.

“You’re not dying, are you?” Oikawa asks suddenly, halting his motions. He peers at Iwaizumi in the darkness, hand still warm around his ankle.

Iwaizumi groans, rolling away from him and making a point to kick his leg until Oikawa lets go. “You’re so stupid. Go the hell to sleep.”

Oikawa’s laugh is gentle, wraps all around him like a warm embrace. Iwaizumi buries his face into the pillow.

“Fine, fine. I’ll look for my Iwa-chan in the morning.” He pats Iwaizumi’s leg once, then turns to shuffle away to the kitchen. Iwaizumi’s cheeks burn. This is - something. What they’re doing. Is it all that different, or is it that Iwaizumi’s finally attuned to the possibility of something else between them? Whatever the case, it’s making his skin thrum with anticipation.

He listens to Oikawa retrieve a glass from the cupboard, then open the fridge. There’s a longer pause than necessary for Oikawa to get his drink.

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes firmly closed as Oikawa makes his way back over to the couch.

“Thanks for dinner,” he whispers. Iwaizumi had meant to ignore him, but there’d been a warm gust of air on the back of his neck, Oikawa leaning in close to say it.

Iwaizumi contemplates his life for approximately three seconds before flipping to his other side. Oikawa’s crouched beside the couch, looking at him earnestly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. “Eat it now if you want. I’m still going back to sleep, though.”

Oikawa nods, then asks seriously, “Does that mean I can eat it in your bed?”

Iwaizumi glares. “Are you trying to get your ass thrown out in the middle of the night?”

“So cold,” Oikawa mutters, playing at being put upon. He watches Iwaizumi for another moment. “We could share the bed.”

Iwaizumi’s body feels hot all over. It’s a little different, what they’re doing. They’d shared a bed as kids, of course, but that had been before, before it meant anything. Before it could mean everything. Iwaizumi swallows.

“You’d just keep me up all night talking,” he says, a little hoarse.

Oikawa smiles, still sleep soft, and Iwaizumi wants to reach for him. “Maybe you’re right,” he says.

Iwaizumi’s awake for a long time after, unable to shake the image of Oikawa spread out in his bed. Wonders what it’d feel like to be beside him, to feel the warm puff of his breath against the back of his neck again. The craziest thing about it all, the most fantastic, wonderfully unbelievable part, is that he thinks he could actually find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This fic has been nearly done for awhile now, I just need to touch up the last part a bit. I've been procrastinating on doing so, but hopefully posting this chapter will give me a little more of a kick to do so. I don't want this to drag out for too long!
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always!


	4. give me one last chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff, fluff, fluff, part two.

When Iwaizumi wakes, it’s to sunlight attempting to burn through his eyelids and a soft buzz of sound that lessens his annoyance to a startling degree. He doesn’t have enough energy to properly shove the pillow over his face to protect himself, just lies there and listens to Oikawa humming from the direction of the kitchen.

It’s nice. More than nice, actually. Iwaizumi feels disgustingly peaceful and content. He hopes Oikawa’s happy with himself.

He must fall back to sleep at some point, because he’s wholly unprepared for the finger poking at his cheek. “Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sing-songs, poking him again. Iwaizumi’s nose wrinkles in response, which makes Oikawa chuckle. “It’s time to get up, Hajime,” comes the same sing-song voice, and Iwaizumi smacks Oikawa’s hand away before he can say or do something utterly stupid in response.

Oikawa backs away as Iwaizumi sits up, rubbing at his face with more force than strictly necessary. “Come have breakfast!” Oikawa calls, trotting back to the kitchen. Iwaizumi peeks between his fingers to watch Oikawa as he divvies out their portions. He goes back and forth a bit, trying to make them even. Iwaizumi knows he’s still coming to terms with his feelings, but he can’t imagine ever looking at this scene and not being as overcome with fondness as he is right now. Maybe that feeling wouldn’t always be expressed by the desire to wrap his arms around Oikawa from behind and breathe against the back of his neck, but it’s certainly what he wants to do at the moment.

He veers off to the bathroom instead, and when he returns, Oikawa has their food set up on the table. “Iwa-chan, it’ll get cold,” he scolds without looking up. Iwaizumi makes a point to ruffle his hair when he walks by.

“Looks good,” he says, sitting down across from Oikawa.

“Of course it does,” Oikawa replies, patting at his hair with one hand. He hadn’t woken Iwaizumi up with the hair dryer at any point, so it’s a little less styled than usual. Iwaizumi refrains from commenting; even a compliment might earn him a hair dryer blast next time.

The entire scene is so charmingly domestic, Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do. The flowers stand between them on the table, and he wants to reach out and push them over to Oikawa, casually, like passing the salt. _Mom’s not coming_ , he’ll say, _why don’t you keep them_? Oikawa would smile and blush, just the tiniest bit, pink like one of those flowers Iwaizumi doesn’t know the name of, lean closer to sniff them again. _Well, if you’re sure._ He can’t stop staring at the buds, wondering which one would look nicest against Oikawa’s hair. _I can’t be the only one with a flower in their hair, Iwa-chan_ , Oikawa would laugh, his fingers brushing Iwaizumi’s ear as he places one in return.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Oikawa chides, pouting a little. Iwaizumi mumbles an apology and goes back to his food, hopes his ears aren’t red. Oikawa’s watching him now, an odd look on his face, which only makes Iwaizumi’s heart start to race. He needs to say something, and soon, or he’s going to blurt out an _I love you_ around the food in his mouth. He’s fairly certain that would go down as the least romantic scenario of all time.

“I don’t think you slept well at all, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa announces. “Though it was very chivalrous to give up your bed, you might want to reconsider next time.”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “Next time I’ll just stuff you under it.”

“No thanks.” Oikawa shivers. “I can’t even imagine what’s down there.”

“Probably wherever you first crawled out of.”

Oikawa huffs. “See if I make you breakfast again.” When Iwaizumi glances up, Oikawa’s not looking at him, brow slightly furrowed. He’s suddenly aware that he’s not really setting the proper sort of mood for the conversation he wants to be having. He wants to fix that, even though he can tell Oikawa isn’t genuinely irritated.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Still kinda tired.” He likes this. Quiet, simple moments like this, just being together. “Thanks for cooking. You didn’t have to.”

Oikawa stares at him for a moment before looking back down. “It’s fine, Iwa-chan,” he says, light, dismissive, but his ears are the faintest pink. Iwaizumi’s stomach trips over itself.

The rest of the meal passes without incident. Oikawa hints that he doesn’t mind sticking around, but he really should get home by this evening. Iwaizumi tries not to look too eager at the prospect of spending the day together. Still, the anticipation is also laced with a bone-deep nervousness. He doesn’t want to wait, to spring this conversation on Oikawa just before it’s time to take him home. More than anything, he wants to have told him this morning, with Oikawa’s finger poking at his cheek, or last night, with a hand buried in Oikawa’s hair in the dark of the living room. Wants to have pressed it into the skin of Oikawa’s neck at the airport, or breathed it out across the line, still miles apart, the words traveling and unwinding from here to Oikawa, emblazoned on the ground itself.

He’s a wreck. He’s a complete and total mess, and it’s a small miracle that he doesn’t embarrass himself any further. There’s really no way Iwaizumi can bring himself to wait any longer.

He doesn’t make a move until they’re done eating, and the delivery is as clunky as he probably should’ve expected from himself.

“Hey, I think we should talk.”

Oikawa’s shoulders stiffen, back ramrod straight beneath the soft fabric of his T-shirt. The clatter of dishes being placed into the sink is the only sound after Iwaizumi’s declaration. He may be out of his element when it comes to things like this, but even Iwaizumi knows a phrase like that has negative connotations. 

“About something. We should talk. If you have a minute.” This is his apartment, and he’s asking Oikawa if he has a minute. “I’ll just be over there,” he mumbles, making a beeline out of the room. Oikawa appears frozen in place.

The wait is agony. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa carefully washes their dishes, possibly more thoroughly than he ever has in his life, then dries his hands on a towel. He’s looking anywhere other than at Iwaizumi, and he knows he only has himself to blame. He barely manages not to raise his face to the sky and scream.

Oikawa only meet his eyes when he’s standing right in front of him. Iwaizumi’s pretty sure he hadn’t even realized he’d been walking towards him. “Hm?” he mutters after looking away again, twisting the towel between his fingers.

Iwaizumi grabs the stupid thing and throws it toward the counter. Oikawa’s eyes are wide, his hands blessedly empty.

He finally grabs on to his hand, just like he’s been dreaming about for the past few weeks. Oikawa’s always had nice hands, hands that he uses to manipulate the ball into doing precisely as he wants. Long fingers that he taps against his chin, or on the tabletop, that constantly catch Iwaizumi’s eye. The touch is warm, sets off little butterflies swarming in Iwaizumi’s stomach, and after a moment of hesitation, Oikawa squeezes back. He still looks mildly alarmed, but he hasn’t let go, and it gives Iwaizumi the last little bit of courage he needs.

“Come here,” he says, and Oikawa follows without protest. Their hands remain clasped together after they sit down on the couch, and Iwaizumi’s having a hard time looking away from the sight, something inside of him immensely pleased and sated from this simple contact. Still, he has something to do here. Something important, something he’s single-handedly been trying to ruin since yesterday.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he says. There’s a pinch between Oikawa’s eyebrows, and Iwaizumi can barely stand it. He wants to see this face every day, wake up to it, wants to hear the sleepy drawl of Oikawa saying his name, feel the warmth of his breath so near, in the early morning light. He doesn’t want to go on any longer waiting, wondering. He wants whatever Oikawa will give him.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Say it. “And me.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows raise slightly, hand spasming in Iwaizumi’s. “Oh?” he says, a little high, and normally Iwaizumi would roll his eyes, try to ease the tension with a sarcastic remark, but he can see the hesitation. _It’s been like this for awhile_ , he’d said, and Iwaizumi really wants to punch him. Or himself. Maybe he can take out both of them with the same swing. He settles for pressing their foreheads together, instead. Oikawa’s unsteady intake of breath is startlingly real against his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, tries not to get lost. “A lot.” Oikawa’s too close, but it’s Iwaizumi’s own fault. He can’t look away from those familiar brown eyes, eyes he’s looked into a thousand times, a face he’s taken for granted over half his life. Something seems to tremble in his chest, brittle and fierce, and Iwaizumi takes a deep breath. More than one. His hands are shaking when he raises them to Oikawa’s face.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa begins, uncertain. One warm hand wraps around Iwaizumi’s wrist, and his eyes drift shut at the touch. It’s alright. He can be the one to say it first. Oikawa had been the brave one, really, between them.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says. He opens his eyes, pulls back so he can see Oikawa clearly. He looks a little taken aback, unsure, and Iwaizumi doesn’t let himself think. He sweeps his thumbs over Oikawa’s cheeks and tells him, “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

It takes a moment for the confusion, the hesitance, to clear. What’s left is a softness in Oikawa’s eyes that leaves Iwaizumi feeling bare, exposed. “Me too.” His hand squeezes around Iwaizumi’s wrist.

Something is lodged in his throat, heavy and stifling. This is Oikawa, his best friend, the boy who’d teased him relentlessly and yet always reached out to drag Iwaizumi along with him. Always together, beside one another. It’s Oikawa, _Tooru_ , looking at him like that, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” It comes out breathless, a little too quick, whatever build up he’d intended lost in the moment, and - it’s a lie, he knows it is, knows it in the way his heart flops around uselessly in his chest, how his hands are shaking again, the heat that soars up the back of his neck into his cheeks. Knows it in the way Oikawa’s eyes widen, mouth fallen slack, fingers digging into Iwaizumi’s wrist so hard it’s painful. There’s no _I think_ , not at all. He laughs, a wheezy, choked off sound. “I am,” he says, dazed, “I really am. I love you.”

Oikawa’s eyes are wide, incredulous, and Iwaizumi has a terrible, fleeting thought of Oikawa pulling away, running from this. From him. 

“Iwa-chan?” Both hands move to tentatively brace Iwaizumi’s, lingering there. A ghost of a touch, as if he doesn’t know whether to hold him close or push him away. “That doesn’t— you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says, insistent, unwilling to hear Oikawa deny him, or himself. _You don’t have to say things like that just for my sake, Iwa-chan_ , or some other platitudes that will cut him apart. He doesn’t think he could bear it if Oikawa were to push him away, not when he knows it’s not what either of them truly wants. 

Or so he hopes. Oikawa isn’t falling into his arms, but maybe that’s not something that he’d really wanted, anyway. He wants this to be clear, for both of them. Wants them to both want it.

Oikawa takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. Steels himself. “If this is because of what you said - that you don’t want to hurt me—”

“That’s not it,” he interrupts. God, he has to stop cutting Oikawa off, but he can’t help it. “Sorry, I just— that’s not it at all, Oikawa.”

“Are you sure?”

Iwaizumi hesitates. Of course he doesn’t want to hurt Oikawa, but that’s nowhere near what this is about. “The two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive, do they?”

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa sighs, fingers twitching against Iwaizumi’s.

“I don’t want to hurt you, because I care about you. You wouldn’t want to hurt me either, right?” Oikawa shakes his head minutely in answer, eyes still closed. “Okay,” he says, nodding to himself. “Okay.”

He wishes he were smoother. Wishes he had the proper words, the kinds of things Oikawa deserves to hear, but all he has is himself.

“The reason I’m sitting here with you like this, is because I want to. I want this.” Iwaizumi’s remarkably proud of himself for how steady his voice is. Oikawa offers nothing in response, face a blank mask, and Iwaizumi fears, for a few horrifying moments, that this entire conversation has been one giant misstep.

But then, Oikawa’s eyes open, instantly finding Iwaizumi’s.

“And what does that mean?” Oikawa asks, voice soft. He’s looking at Iwaizumi as if there’s some sort of puzzle to work out, like it can’t just be that simple. Maybe it isn’t. It’s not as though they haven’t loved each other for years now, but stepping from that into something more is a decision they both have to make.

Iwaizumi swallows, lowers his hands from Oikawa’s face but doesn’t let go. He curls their fingers together gently when Oikawa makes no move to pull away, either. “It means - it means I want to be with you.” He looks down at their hands, heart hammering. “Just this, and I’m - I’m just holding your hand. What the hell, right? It’s not like I’ve never held your hand before.” He squeezes a little, exhales softly. “Do you know how bad my heart’s racing?” 

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice is thick. He squeezes back. Iwaizumi closes his eyes.

It’s hard to say these kinds of things out loud. He’s only just let himself come to terms with these feelings to begin with, but he wants to try. He wants Oikawa to understand.

“I know I never said anything before. I know I’m stupid, but I can’t help thinking that it couldn’t be any other way, you know? It’s always been you and me. Not that I’m saying this is just because it’s easy.” It’s not easy at all. Iwaizumi’s throat is getting tight. “It’s - when I think about you, there’s nothing else. And when I look at you, you’re all I see. I don’t think I’ll ever want to look away from you, and I’m okay with that.” Oikawa’s squeezing his hands, hard, and he blinks his eyes open to see the white of his knuckles. He runs his thumbs over them, gently, carefully. “Sorry. I don’t really know what it means, but I do know that it means something to me. _You_ mean something to me. I wanted you to know that.”

When he looks up, there’s something foreign, yet achingly familiar, brimming in Oikawa’s eyes. Iwaizumi’s heart feels like it’s overflowing, the words somehow loosing everything he’s been holding inside, and he hopes Oikawa can see it all on his face. Oikawa makes a noise, a slight wobble to his bottom lip, and stares at Iwaizumi in wonder, like he’s seeing him for the first time. His eyes are wet, the timid hope budding on his face beautiful, and Iwaizumi knows he loves him, too. Has for a long time. If he hadn’t been sure before, he knows it now. Iwaizumi may be slow, but he intends to make up for this one. Doesn’t mind doing so for however long Oikawa will let him.

“Don’t cry,” he says, and Oikawa rushes to nod, waving a hand dismissively between them. He covers his eyes with that same shaky hand, but Iwaizumi can hear the slight hitch in his breath, see the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t cry,” he repeats, softer, and Oikawa sniffles, what should be gross and off-putting from this distance, but only makes Iwaizumi want to hold him closer, kiss him until he forgets how to do anything other than kiss Iwaizumi back.

If he’s honest, he feels dangerously close to crying, himself. Thankfully Oikawa is able to pull himself together after a few deep breaths, still hidden behind his hand. Iwaizumi’s heart pounds loudly in his ears, an urgent flutter. When Oikawa looks to him again, eyes still a little wet, it’s not unlike free-falling. They watch each other, and Iwaizumi doesn’t try to compose himself. There’s nothing he doesn’t want Oikawa to see, right now. 

“You bought me flowers.” It’s a statement, one punctuated by Oikawa’s eyelashes fluttering, thick and dark. Iwaizumi manages not to cringe at his earlier stupidity, offering a simple nod, because well. At least this saves him from actually having to bring it up himself. Oikawa’s eyes are soft but curious as he asks, “Why did you lie about it?”

Iwaizumi tries not to grimace but ultimately fails. “I know it’s hard to believe, but maybe I’m not always as suave as a minute ago.”

Oikawa laughs, casts a look at him that borders on shy. Has he ever seen Oikawa look like that before? He wouldn’t mind seeing more of it.

“Very suave,” Oikawa agrees. There’s a twinkle in his eye, warm and fond. “You planned this.” His fingers trail along the back of Iwaizumi’s hands, over his wrists, curling to press gently against his pulse. His eyes are searching, and Iwaizumi can’t find it in himself to do anything but gaze back. “You love me,” he says, half a question, and Iwaizumi’s heart does a dozen backflips, leaves him breathless.

“I already said it,” he mutters, as if he doesn’t want to say it a hundred times more, a thousand, if only to see Oikawa look at him this way forever. There’s a thrill running through him, and he tilts forward again, their noses brushing together. He has to close his eyes, breathe, breathe, breathe. “I do,” he says, “I do,” and Oikawa’s wrapped all around him now, hand curled into Iwaizumi’s hair, the other clutching at his back. His hands slide into soft brown hair as Oikawa buries his face against Iwaizumi’s neck, a warm exhale muffled against his skin.

“When did you go and get so cool, Iwa-chan?” he murmurs, lips brushing Iwaizumi’s neck. It might just be the most distracting thing he’s ever experienced in his life. “You bought me flowers and told me you loved me, and I didn’t do anything at all.” Incredibly, he sounds a little - petulant?

Unbelievable. Iwaizumi can’t help a laugh. He holds Oikawa closer, laughs and laughs, until he gets a soft smack to his shoulder for his efforts.

“You can still do something,” he teases, running his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. 

Oikawa makes a thoughtful sound. “I do know some pretty romantic lines,” he says, nonchalant, and Iwaizumi freezes up. He’d thought about it - more than once, if he’s honest, and he’s been nothing if not honest with himself lately - Oikawa’s voice saying the words he couldn’t stop reading over and over. Wondering whether Oikawa had wanted to tell them to the person he’d been pining over.

Oikawa pulls back enough to look him over. He watches Iwaizumi, eyes half-lidded, and the words stick in his throat. _Shut up, don’t be stupid, who would want that._ He can feel himself wilt under that appraising gaze, until finally Oikawa smiles, shifts so his arms are looped around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and says, “They were all about you, you know.”

“I know,” he manages to force out. He pretends he doesn’t notice how hoarse his own voice sounds. It’s still a little difficult to wrap his mind around; Oikawa’s been aware of his own feelings far longer than Iwaizumi. Does he still feel like he’s drowning, just the same?

“What do you want me to do, Iwa-chan?” It feels like everything is moving in slow motion, or it’s happening to someone else, maybe. One warm hand curls around his jaw, fire branding his skin. Oikawa’s head tilts to the side, the look on his face enough to make Iwaizumi’s heart stutter. He thinks of all the girls in high school fawning over charming, talented Oikawa-san, all the fans these days freaking out over much the same, jealous of whoever has captured handsome pro volleyball player Oikawa-san’s attention. And somehow it’s Iwaizumi that gets to see this expression, Iwaizumi whose face is cradled expertly in one of those talented hands. 

His palms feel sweaty, tongue suddenly useless in his mouth. Had Oikawa seriously just been calling him cool?

“Do I really have to do everything?” he wheezes.

His brain short circuits when Oikawa leans forward, honest to god presses their cheeks together in something like a nuzzle. He sighs warmly, murmurs, “Sorry, Iwa-chan. You don’t have to say anything else.”

The affection swelling in his heart balloons outward, makes his chest feel tight. “It’s not just me,” Oikawa whispers against his cheek. Goosebumps prickle all along his skin, a pleasant heat rising up the back of his neck. “I’m not the only one who feels this way.” A half-formed reply is on his lips, actual words or maybe something akin to a frantic gurgle, but there’s no wait for affirmation before Oikawa’s mouth, thankfully, meets his. 

It hadn’t really been possible, before, to imagine kissing Oikawa. He’d thought about it, sure, but the tantalizing, stomach-swooping idea of it hadn’t done anything to prepare him for the reality of it. They move together, hesitant only in the first sweet, heart-stopping moment. Oikawa makes a small noise against his lips, something that perfectly matches the sparks eager to ignite all over Iwaizumi’s skin, and that’s all it takes. One hand slips from Oikawa’s hair to curl possessively around the back of his neck, drawing him closer, closer, and Oikawa’s hands are everywhere, his face, his hair, his shoulders. Like he can’t get enough, a thought that spreads fire headily through Iwaizumi’s veins.

“Oikawa,” he murmurs, desperate. His name again, between presses of lips, slow and careful, then firm and sure. Oikawa uses his hold to tilt Iwaizumi’s head back and presses close, kisses him so thoroughly, that Iwaizumi’s head starts to spin. It’s heavy and light all at once, like he’s floating and sinking and he never, ever wants to let go.

Oikawa pulls back just slightly, a hair’s breadth between them. Iwaizumi opens his eyes, tries not to pant like he’s just run a mile. Oikawa’s gaze is electric, sends something hot and staticky down his spine. He digs his fingers into Oikawa’s elbows, and Oikawa leans forward again, kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the curve of his jaw, before making his way back to his lips. “Me too,” he whispers, a fleeting kiss to Iwaizumi’s mouth, then another; “I love you,” another sweet press, “I love you so much,” and then another, longer kiss, one Iwaizumi chases after, fingers tangled helplessly in Oikawa’s hair.

Sudden urgency envelops them like a blanket, crushing them together until Oikawa’s practically in his lap. He pulls away only when they’re both short of breath, face buried against Iwaizumi’s neck. Unwilling to be apart. Iwaizumi can relate, entirely.

Thoughts of catching his own breath fall by the wayside once Oikawa starts to lay kisses along Iwaizumi’s neck, quick, fevered presses along with long, slower ones, the hot heat of his tongue making Iwaizumi shiver. It’s too much, and not enough, and Iwaizumi tugs at the back of his shirt mindlessly to guide their mouths together again. Oikawa’s eyelashes flutter closed, hands warm, like his lips, and Iwaizumi wants to keep looking, memorizing, but his eyelids drift shut, too.

This time, the kiss is different, slower, intimate in a way he can’t quite explain. Oikawa breathes against him, pressed closer than he’s ever been, and Iwaizumi breathes, too. It feels like a promise, a certainty. This is only the first, not the last, and when Iwaizumi tilts his head to the side, catches Oikawa’s bottom lip teasingly between his teeth, he can’t help a smile. Oikawa’s soft sound, the playful tug he gets in response, makes him smile wider. Kissing Oikawa while his lips are stretched so sweetly is already one of his favorite things, even if all of Oikawa’s kisses have quickly become his favorites, too.

They pull apart, but don’t end up getting very far. Oikawa’s fingers trail gently over the side of his neck, where his lips had been not long before, and Iwaizumi’s skin tingles.

“You look happy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs. His cheeks are flushed, hair tousled; a half smile pulls at his mouth, which Iwaizumi is now very familiar with in all sorts of new and wonderful ways. It’s with great difficulty that Iwaizumi stops himself from pressing him flat against the cushions.

“So do you,” he returns, cupping Oikawa’s jaw in one hand. His eyes slip closed, leaning into Iwaizumi’s touch. Iwaizumi’s heart rattles wildly somewhere in his chest. He wants to kiss those delicate, fluttering eyelids, the point of his chin, the lovely dip between his collarbones.

“I guess you caught me,” Oikawa says, meeting his eyes again. He holds Iwaizumi’s hand in place, as though he had plans of letting go any time soon. “That’s because I am.” He looks at Iwaizumi for another moment before leaning forward, pressing his face into his shoulder. Iwaizumi’s fingers run through his hair, while Oikawa traces gentle patterns along the back of his neck.

It still feels a little like a dream, having Oikawa in his arms like this. He’d like to pinch himself, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t want to wake up if none of this is real.

“Hey, Iwa-chan?” 

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi closes his eyes.

“I really am happy, you know.” His voice is soft, but sure.

Iwaizumi’s pulse flutters pleasantly. “I know.”

Oikawa’s hand slides away, fingers running along Iwaizumi’s chest to rest atop his steadily beating heart. “And I want to be with you, too.”

“That’s good,” Iwaizumi replies, tilting his nose into Oikawa’s soft hair. “That’s really good.” He threads his fingers with Oikawa’s, over his chest.

He thinks of the day ahead of them, but fails to imagine doing anything other than just this.

When Oikawa does pulls back a bit, Iwaizumi wonders if he’d been following the same train of thought. “Does this count as our first date?” he asks.

Iwaizumi frowns. “Definitely not.”

“Oh?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow, teasing lilt in his voice. “Does this mean you already have that all planned out, too?”

“You give me way too much credit.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t even hand you the flowers I spent so much money on.”

Oikawa’s face unexpectedly fills with color. “Iwa-chan! You didn’t, right?” His eyes are wide. He correctly takes Iwaizumi’s silence for confirmation. He looks down, bewildered, as Oikawa lightly slaps his chest. “Anyway, you can’t just say things like that!” Iwaizumi watches with something akin to delight as Oikawa covers his own face with a hand.

The entire sequence of events is far too charming. He’s used to many facets of Oikawa, but this one is ridiculously, endearingly sweet.

“Really?” he laughs. “I didn’t expect you to be shy, Oikawa.”

“Be quiet,” Oikawa admonishes, peeking at him over his hand. He lets it be tugged away without much resistance, but leans forward into Iwaizumi to keep his face hidden. “It’s just a lot,” he says. He tilts his head to the side, breath warm over Iwaizumi’s collarbone. “I wasn’t expecting…” He trails off. “This. Any of this.”

“It is a lot,” he agrees. It honestly is, overwhelmingly so, but he wouldn’t change a thing. “I’m not really good at this kind of stuff, but I think you know that already, so.” Oikawa’s hand finds his again, fingers lacing together.

“I think you’re doing just fine.” Oikawa laughs softly. “Who knew? A man of many talents.”

“I guess there was a reason you kept me around all of these years,” Iwaizumi replies, smiling.

Oikawa presses closer. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Nah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Iwaizumi squeezes his hand.

Oikawa makes a small sound, squeezing back. “Iwa-chan. Are you sure you’re not dying?”

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi gently guides him backward, cradling the back of his head. Oikawa watches him, eyes soft, as Iwaizumi’s hand moves. Runs his fingers along Oikawa’s cheek, his jaw, before finally coming to rest along the curve of his neck. Iwaizumi can’t stop looking, every inch of Oikawa’s face, so close, so open. So undeniably happy. All because of him.

“What is it?” Oikawa asks.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have an answer. He shakes his head, shrugs a little helplessly. 

“Admiring the view?” Oikawa teases, lips curled into a grin. He wiggles his eyebrows.

“I guess you caught me,” Iwaizumi replies, tipping forward to press a kiss to Oikawa’s nose. Because he can, because he wants to. “That’s because I am.” A lovely flush overtakes Oikawa’s face yet again, and Iwaizumi can’t hold back his smile.

This time, Oikawa slaps a hand over Iwaizumi’s face, instead. “Iwa-chan, this is too much. You’re supposed to only grudgingly admit you like me, maybe after a brush with death, then go back to doing push ups or whatever it is you do all day.”

Iwaizumi pulls the hand away, sees Oikawa dangerously close to pouting. He manages to keep his expression even. “I see. If you’d rather I do that, then—”

“Oh, shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, both hands around his face as he kisses Iwaizumi soundly. He can’t find it in himself to even pretend to protest.

Oikawa’s lips linger, two, three more soft kisses pressed to Iwaizumi’s mouth before he pulls back. His eyes are warm, adoring, and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Iwaizumi to lean in and kiss him again. The answering smile, the soft, pleased sigh against his lips, makes his heart soar. 

_It’s just me_ , a small part of him whispers, but there’s no accompanying, _this is just Oikawa_ , to go with it. If anything, the thought only makes the contentment washing over him somehow sweeter. Makes his breath even out, his hands a little steadier.

He thinks he could get used to this kind of happiness.

-

_Well, it’s only fair to update you - if you can believe it, I wasn’t the one to say those three words first! I guess I met my match after all ( ღ˘⌣˘ღ ) thanks for your support, now and always~ #teamwebelieveintooru, out!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd that's that! Sorry it took me awhile to touch up this last chapter. I had so much fun writing this fic?? It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way while writing, just the simple enjoyment of following the thread of a silly, light-hearted idea, and seeing it through to (fluffy) fruition. Sometimes you have to live your dreams and write the story that you want to see in the world, even if it may not be your best. I will always think back on this fic fondly, because I’ll remember all of the fun that went with it, amidst turbulent times. 
> 
> Thanks again to anyone who has made it to the end and I appreciate all of your kind words of support♥️!


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